


I Found A Friend in the Great Beast

by KaelsMiscellany



Series: A Forge for the Steeling of Souls [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Nemeton, Season 2 AU, Slow Build, season 3a au, young!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But by the time she reaches the steps she can't remember why she got out of the car. The warning bell rings giving her a start and she hurries to class.</p><p>A warm hand squeezes her shoulder comfortingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers Caught Up (Nothing at All?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helholden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/gifts).



> So this is for the fantastic Helholden (obviously), who gave me a wonderfully detailed prompt that basically boiled down to ghost/hallucination!Peter interacting with Lydia. While this isn't exactly what you prompted sweetheart (except for the last bit) I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also this is my 50th fic on AO3!! *Tosses confetti*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A UA (universe alternation) in that I've inserted an extra day between Peter and Lydia's flower scene and Lydia learning the truth.
> 
> Title comes from the wonderfully, beautifully depressing "Prosthetic Love" by Typhoon.
> 
> *old uncle voice* One more thing, this could totally be seen as a tribute to [My Love Is Vengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/456055/chapters/784214) and, the gone but not forgotten, Wolfsbane (no I'm still not over it vanishing from AO3, why do you ask?).

Lydia sits in her car, staring at herself in the visor mirror. “You can do this,” she repeats to herself once again. “You've been doing it for a few weeks now, who cares what these idiots think of you.” It's quickly becoming her mantra, but lately it's not working as well as it could.

Her gaze soon skitters away though, afraid that if she stares at the mirror too long she'll see glowing red eyes, to stare at the teenagers milling about. There's still about five minutes before the warning bell and she's going to stay in the car for as long as humanly possible; who cares if it's cowardly?

Maybe today she'll get lucky and manage no contact with her 'friends', that'd be nice.

A flash of plaid catches her eye and she turns to it to see The Boy; The Boy? Who is she Princess Buttercup? Then again she keeps forgetting to ask him his name. Climbing out of her car she starts to head to him, resolving to finally learn his name.

But by the time she reaches the steps she can't remember why she got out of the car. The warning bell rings giving her a start and she hurries to class.

A warm hand squeezes her shoulder comfortingly.

-

She manages her first three classes alright.

It helps that in Econ The Boy gives her a shy smile from his desk and when she reaches her own there's a note on it.

_Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean_

_things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand._

_But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable._

_Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous_

_discards. Space for knickknacks, and for_

_Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify._

_Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected_

_anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind_

_that takes genius. Chasms in character._

_Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above_

_a new grave. Pages you know exist_

_but you can't find them. Someone's terribly_

_inevitable life story, maybe mine._

Freeform poetry? She would've expected something more along the lines of Nirvana lyrics, maybe Incubus or Pearl Jam.

Still it's sweet of him and manages to bring a smile to her face at it's unexpectedness.

When class ends she rushes to try and catch him but he's already gone. Then she rushes to try and avoid Scott and Stiles cornering her.

All throughout French she browses through William Stafford poems—it wasn't that hard to Google—to give him in response. She jots out 'The Trouble With Reading', she can drop it in his locker before heading to lunch. She tucks it into one of her purse pockets and forgets about it.

-

Lunch is the worst. At least in class no one can stare at her or whisper.

She sits alone now.

“...Crazy.” She flinches as someone speaks a bit too loudly about her, or maybe it's on purpose; she knows all to well how mean teenagers can be.

“Shut the fuck up Tom,” The Boy snaps.

Behind her there are sounds of an unfriendly scuffle; she sits up a little straighter.

-

In Calculus she finds another note in her purse.

_To my surprise, you took my arm—_

_A gesture you didn't explain—_

_And we spoke in whispers, as if we two_

_Might imitate the rain._

…

_I watched you merge into the group,_

_Aloof and yet polite._

_We didn't speak another word._

_Except to say goodnight._

…

 _There are so many_ might have beens,

What ifs _that won't stay buried,_

_Other cities, other jobs,_

_Strangers we might have married._

 

_And memory insists on pining_

_For places it never went,_

_As if life would be happier_

_Just by being different_.

Something in her chest warms and twists.

It makes her uncomfortable with how much she likes it.

-

“Lydia!” Scott shouts behind her and without thought she dives headfirst into the growing mass of students just as eager as she to get out of school now that it's over. However unlike what would have happened just a few weeks ago this crowd doesn't part for the queen of Beacon Hills high, they stay pressed against her, battering her from side to side.

Reaching up she dashes away tears, she has no reason to cry, none at all.

Long fingers cup her elbow. “Left,” The Boy says right in her ear. Those fingers on her elbow seem to grow hotter and hotter as he guides her through the crowd and out the front doors.

She blinks, and wonders why she's in the preserve. Something in her heart sinks, _not again_. At least this time she's not naked.

Grabbing her phone out of her purse she opens up maps, and her shoulders slump in relief when it shows she's only a hundred or so feet from the school parking lot.

Out of habit she checks the time before turning her phone off. Lacrosse practice is already half over, meaning the only person she's possibly got to try and dodge is Allison. Who doesn't seem to have preternatural awareness of where she is. _I_ t's only Scott that has that, she shudders to think what Stiles would be like if he shared that horrible trait too.

-

Since she still has access to her dad's money she decides she might as well spend some more of it.

At Macy's the salesperson is a fellow classmate and is thus suitably biting and snide, sneering at every dress she sees Lydia look at.

Once again she blinks away tears, she will _not_ let that horrible hag of a girl see her cry.

“Hey.” She should start, but doesn't, when The Boy wraps an arm around her shoulder. “She's wearing florescent green, clearly you've got the better fashion sense.”

Lydia's laugh is watery, but it's a laugh; and she gives him a grateful smile. The arm around her shoulders gets warmer. “Come on, I know guys and girls don't usually go shopping together, but I've got a good eye for color.”

His voice is soothing as they go through the dresses together, and he _does_ have a good eye for color, picking out dresses Lydia likes the look of and would probably look great on her.

She goes into the dressing room, dresses in hand, alone. When she comes out wearing the first one The Boy is gone; and she bites the inside of her lip to keep from making a disappointed sound before returning to the changing stall.

After trying them all on she buys two.

On the way home she resolves to wear one tomorrow; a secret part of her she won't admit to hoping he notices.

-

Her mom's off on another 'date' so Lydia once more finds herself alone for what's probably the whole night. She orders Chinese takeout from Lou's—everyone knows it's the worst in town but she loves it and no one's going to give her disapproving stares while she stuffs her face with beef lo mein that has more MSG than actual nutritional value—and spreads out the pages of the bestiary from Allison's 'online game'.

They know they're lying, and she does too. Since they keep insisting they're not she feels herself sliding further and further away from them.

A shiver passes through her, and she finds herself turning on the TV for background noise; otherwise all she'll hear is the clunky water heater and Prada's snores. She finds a channel playing re-runs of CSI: Miami and turns it down low enough that she shouldn't be drawn into correcting every mistake they make.

She's about five pages into her translation when the doorbell rings. She pays the delivery boy and hauls her food straight to the living room. Quickly she rubs her chopsticks together to get rid of possible splinters then digs in.

All too easily she loses track of time, her mind caught up in Archaic Latin. She doesn't even stop when her eyes start to droop and she finally notices the CSI marathon has stopped and switched over to late night infomercials.

Rubbing her eyes she stands, apparently too quickly though because she sways and starts to fall. Sure, thin hands catch her then scoop her up completely. “Woah there.” The Boy says.

Blinking into his shoulder she tries to think about how he could've gotten into the house. “I should call the police,” she half yawns as he starts to carry her out of the living room.

“You could, but I think it'd be nicer if you didn't. I'll be out of your hair before you know it,” he sounds amused by that;  if it's a reference to something she doesn't get it. They sway slightly as he starts to carry her up the stairs.

He smells nice, like those chocolate oranges. “How'd you get in?”

Down the hall. “Your front door was unlocked.”

“So you just came in?” She murmurs into his shoulder. “That's unlawful entry I'm sure.”

His shoulders shake with laughter and she's so _glad_ she amuses him. “I tried knocking and ringing the doorbell but you didn't answer.” A soft frown mars her face, she didn't think she was _that_ involved that she'd miss the doorbell.

The door to her bedroom still creaks; briefly she spots her bed and exhaustion swamps her. “If you try to undress me I really will scream.” There's a line, she knows there is; he might be cute but it only gets him so far.

“I'll bet you would, but don't worry,” he speaks softly into her hair. “I wouldn't dream of it, unless you said I could.” There's a note in his voice she'd probably find arousing if she weren't so damn tired.

She feels the give of the bed as he puts her on it and seconds later she feels him tuck her blankets around her. She turns to face him, but it's too dark in her room to see him. “Your flower's over there,” she tells him, gesturing to the general area of her vanity. She's not quite sure why she didn't just throw it away last night after he left.

“I'm touched,” she feels his breath ghost across her cheek. “But how about you give it to me tomorrow.”

Her eyelids flutter shut. “Tomorrow,” she sleepily agrees.

“Sweet dreams Lydia.” Soft, warm lips press against hers.

Pulling away with a start she opens her eyes and fumbles to turn on her bedside lamp.

He's already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems used in the fic were 'Things in My Journal' by William Stafford and 'Summer Storm' by Dana Gioia


	2. A New Beginning (Suspiciously Like the Old One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lydia,” Peter sighs. “I might be a monster but I'm not entirely without manners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops there's more!
> 
> I had an idea for another chapter, then Helholden politely asked for older!Peter hallucinations, and I'm pretty much a pushover when it comes to writing, et voila! You're getting two whole new chapters! (Well chapter three won't be up for another day or two)
> 
> So yes, I did change the story title because of that, the new one comes from another Typhoon song called "Claws Pt 1".
> 
> The title for this chapter is yet another Typhoon song "Old Habits (Starting Over)".
> 
> Also this is officially an AU now, this chapter spanning from the end of Restraint to somewhere about the middle of Party Guessed

Lydia eventually comes to, feeling worn and wrung out.

Getting up she studiously ignores the armoire as she makes her way out of the Hale house; it's really the only place she could be, she's not _stupid_. Once on the porch she stares out at the open expanse of 'yard' and the preserve beyond it, skipping over Peter who's standing to her left; and no longer looking like a burn ward patient.

Deciding she might as well just pick a direction and go she does so.

“Lydia, this way.” Peter's voice sounds right in her ear and she violently suppresses a shiver; then keeps on ignoring him.

“Lydia.” Too warm fingers grasp her elbow in an all too familiar gesture, only this time she yanks her elbow out of his grasp and whirls around.

“Don't touch me,” she hisses.

His hands fly up and he takes a step back. “It's just, you're going the wrong way if you want to get home anytime soon.” He says it the same way The Boy—it's hard to reconcile the two in her mind—would and her insides twist.

She stares at him for a few seconds before purposefully turning back around and continuing in the same direction she'd been going in.

“Lydia,” Peter sighs. “I might be a monster but I'm not entirely without manners.”

This time when she spins around she's surprised to see he's still 'standing' in the same spot as before, despite the fact that he'd spoken right in her ear. Then again _he's all in her head_ so he can do whatever he damn well pleases. She nearly asks him what he means by that, but realizes she's not quite sure she wants to know.

“It means I'm going to show you the safest way home so you can get some rest.” He sounds so reasonable.

So she narrows her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?” It's suspicious after some of the things he's put her through. “Why should I trust you?”

He starts to approach her slowly, it's curious the way he acts like he still has a physical body—though in a way she guesses he does. “I'm being nice because you're _important_ Lydia. I feel responsible to you, and I do care about you.” He stops right in front of her, but far enough away that she feels safe, ish. “And you can trust me because you know where I'm buried.”

Looking up at him she frowns. “What do you mean?” She _is_ curious, but still suspicious.

“I'm technically dead Lydia, if you destroy my body I'm done for.” He takes a few steps back and artfully leans against a tree. “I'd say that gives you quite a bit of power.”

If he's telling the truth. “Yes, destroy your body and have you stuck in my head forever, what a reward.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn't work that way Lydia, destroy my body and my soul goes the same way.” Somehow she knows that he's telling her the truth about that, but she can't quite pinpoint _how_ she knows that.

“Why are you being so upfront with me now? You've been lying to me all week?”

A one shoulder shrug shouldn't look so good on him. “I've got no reason at all to lie to you anymore. You know what I want, and we've still got a while before we can do that.” He shoves off from the tree and returns to standing in front of her, offering a hand. “Now please, let me take you home? You really should be in bed.”

Worrying the inside of her lip she stares at his hand. On the one hand she'd rather not be stuck in the preserve for two days again, on the other he's the reason all of this happened in the first place. In the end being practical wins out, and shoulders slumping she takes his hand.

He smiles at her and begins guiding her through a patch of trees that looks exactly like the rest. “To be fair Lydia, even if I hadn't attacked you something like that would have eventually happened to you anyways. I just, jump-started the process. The spark that lit the fire as it were.”

Which earns him a flat look in return. “You still attacked me, and how do you know that?” He tugs her closer to him for a second and on her other side she feels something sharp brush the skin of her arm. “Do you know what's happening to me?” The promise of answers is overcoming any reticence she might be having about interacting with him.

“I have an idea. But,” she opens her mouth to protest only to find herself stopping when he raises his other hand sharply. “It's late, and if we start talking about it now you'll never get any sleep. Tomorrow.”

Something like a shiver passes through her—and if he feels it he doesn't comment—he'd said the exact same thing yesterday. “You care a lot about my sleep habits,” she gives a haughty sniff.

His lips twitch. “Considering you went to bed at 3 AM yesterday I believe I can express some concern.”

Before she can come up with some tart reply they reach her backyard. She doesn't protest when he keeps leading her into the house and into her room; what use would it be to the man who lived in her head anyways?

Neither of them bother turning on the overhead light, the light from the waxing moon pouring in from her open window is light enough to see by. Though she's beginning to think that even if it were pitch black in her room she'd be able to see Peter.

He reaches up and she finds herself shying away, his hand falls back down. “I'll see you in the morning, and I'll show you where to look.”

While the crypticness of the last bit irks her, the first part confuses her even more. “What do you mean? You're in my head Peter, it's not like you can leave.”

He has the gall to give her a flat look. “My soul _rests_ in your mind yes, but I'm not in it all the time Lydia. Dead bodies just don't heal on their own.”

That, that is strangely reassuring; the thought that she still has times when her mind's only hers and she has _privacy_. “It can't be pleasant.” Granted it's not like he's doing it for fun; she's fast discovering his desire to be alive far outstrips any desire she's ever had herself.

“No,” he says flatly. “It's not.” His shrug is all too causal. “Though it's not as bad as the coma.” With that he vanishes.

Which isn't exactly fair, it means he always gets the last word.

Lydia sigh and gets ready for bed, trusting that he is gone. Reaching out from under the covers she turns her bedside lap off, though she finds herself a bit apprehensive in falling asleep; nightmares aren't exactly a cakewalk.

A warm hand settles on her should over her comforter. “Sleep Lydia,” Peter murmurs. “You won't be getting anymore nightmares from me.” Then he's gone again.

Realizing that if she wants him out of her mind she's going to have to start trusting him at least a little—" _you know where I'm buried” —_she closes her eyes and in time falls asleep.

-

Peter doesn't show up in her room the next morning until she's sitting at her vanity applying makeup. She glances down to grab the right eyeshadow and when she looks up she sees his reflection—or a least the mental image of his reflection—perched on the edge of her bed. “Good morning Lydia,” his greeting sounds tired.

“Peter,” is all she says before going back to applying her makeup. Even if she's planning on skipping school in favor of potentially finding out answers she wants to look her best.

Eventually though she can't delay it anymore and turns to him. “So what are we doing?”

He leans forward a little. “First we're going to stop by my apartment to pick up a few things. Then we're going to be heading to the school.”

She arches her eyebrow. “You have an apartment?” To be fair he hardly seems like the kind of guy who'd squat in an abandoned house.

When his lips twitch she finds herself reminded of his younger self, it's the same twitch he'd give when she'd delivered a particularly good ripost and he was trying to stop himself from smiling. “Yes Lydia, I have an apartment. The Hales were quite rich before the fire and while quite a bit of it went to looking after me for six years there was still plenty left over when I returned to pay for all sorts of things.

“If by chance that eventually ran out, well,” he shrugs and stands. “I think you'll find there's quite a lot more money at our final destination.”

Alright, she's a little intrigued. Snatching up her purse she stands too and, after shoving the bestiary print outs into the main pocket, marches out. “Bye mom, I'm headed off to school,” the lie falls easily from her mouth. Though if they really are going to end up at BHH then it's really only a half-lie.

“Have a good day sweetie,” Her mom replies.

Peter's already in car, seatbelt buckled, by the time she reaches it. “Really?” Somehow she's less afraid of him than she's ever been before. He's not quite so menacing when he's rolling his eyes at her.

“I don't see why not, I might not physically exist but that's no reason to disobey the rules of the road.”

Oh God, it's too much. Clutching the steering wheel she leans towards it and laughs, big, body shaking laughs. On and on she keeps laughing, long past it being funny and more into 'Oh my God what am I doing?'

Throughout all of it Peter stays in his seat, letting her have her moment in relative peace. And if he's in her head what in hell must he be getting from her?

She feels much better when the laughter dies down. Calmer. More relaxed.

“Are you ready to go?” Peter doesn't say it impatiently, which surprises her.

With a nod she turns on the car and pulls out of the driveway, hoping her mom didn't notice her fit of laughter.

Peter directs her to a building on the nice side of town, though should she have expected any differently? Once she's pulled into a spot he guides her around the corner of the building toward a garden that looks like it's seen better days. Then end up next to a rosebush that didn't look like it survived the winter and after a little digging she finds a key.

Dusting it off she stands and arches an eyebrow. “Really?”

He arches one in return. “What? Did you expect me to just keep it under my doormat? That would mean I'd still be locked out of the building, and this is far safer anyways.”

Vaguely a point, but overkill she thinks. He huffs and they go in, up to the third floor, apartment 35. Once inside she's quick to note it's quite plain and lacking in décor.

“I was a bit more focused on getting revenge than interior decorating.” Lightly he grabs her arm, which is still weird if she things about it for too long. “Now the sooner we grab what we need the sooner you can begin your search.”

At his direction she grabs some clothes—“I'm quite naked in my grave Lydia.”—and a laptop bag with a laptop actually in it. Then they're out the door.

The ride to school is boring and thankfully short.

Class has already started, so she doesn't have to worry about anyone seeing her heading towards the BHH sign, laptop bag slung over her shoulder.

She's seen this sign every day, has even sat on it a few times, yet she's never noticed the Celtic knot carved into the side of it.

“Part of the point Lydia,” Peter says as he takes her hand in his and shows her how to trip the lock. There's a grinding groan and the sign slides back revealing stairs.

As she descends the steps she feels like she should be carrying a torch and batting aside cobwebs. In her ear Peter hums the Indiana Jones them and she snorts. The gate at the bottom of the stairs opens at a touch and she finds herself surrounded by old books, errata, plant specimens in jars. “What is this place?”

Peter wanders over to a safe taking up the center back of the room. “A family vault. We had quite a large library at the house, but there were some things we didn't want strangers to have access too, or were too sensitive to expose to constant light and activity, or were to precious to keep in the house.” His voice grows distant and a little fond.

Setting the bag down on a little study carrel tucked away in the corner she approaches the safe and Peter. “Is there a filing system or is it all just shoved together?” It's strange but surrounded by so many old books full of things she could never imagine she's not even a little bit afraid of him.

“A bit of both,” he gives a half smile. “I did my best to organize everything, but Talia was always shoving new books in, usually in places I'd never think to look until much later, and by then there'd be new books squirreled away.” A hand goes up and gestures to the shelves dedicated to books. “Those are all organized by subject, then author's last name. Good luck with any book not on those shelves.”

She finds herself almost giddy. “Anything else I should know?”

“The password on the laptop is larkspur.” She starts at that—the flower he gave her. “I've got a lot of the older books scanned in there already, and the start of a database. If you want information about what I did for you start there.” This time he starts to fade away.

“Wait!” He stops halfway, making him look like a real ghost. “You're just gonna leave me here?”

He blinks, then blinks again. “Ah.” He jerks his thumb behind him at the far wall, where another knot has been carved. “Do what I showed you with the other one and it'll take you into the school. I'd love to stay and banter I've only got a week until the full moon and a lot of work to do to get myself where I need to be. So yes, I'm just going to leave you here. For now.”

And again he vanishes before she can say anything else, she'll be glad when he can stop doing that.

-

Over the next week Lydia throws herself into research, when she's not planning her birthday party.

It's amazing what wealth of knowledge is in here: the bond she and Peter are sharing—a 'soule-twyining' if the centuries old treatise is to be believed—should end when he returns to his own body, though the treatise also mentions 'blurr-ed edges and 'bleed over' which she's taking to mean there'll be some residual effects; then there's herself.

 _Banshee_. At first she hadn't quite believed it; she's still a tad leery of Peer and even knowing he couldn't have possible forged all these books they still all _came_ from him. She pages through the bestiary she took from Allison and finds the same thing; granted there's _less_ information in the bestiary.

Barrow woman, washer at the ford, fairy woman, wailing woman. So many names for someone with only one power that she could find.

Predicting death.

Shuddering she closes the book and steps out of the carrel, past the safe with it's millions of dollars—Peter had told her the combo and said she was welcome to a million or two if she wanted it—and out into the school.

She is outside in the sun when Peter appears, probably to badger her about eating again—who'd have thought the man who attacked her would be such a mother hen?

As time goes on she finds she can sense him in her mind, a strange fuzzy blurring around the edges of her thoughts. Sometimes he's there all day, bantering with her while she makes notes and adds entries to his database; other times she's well and truly alone, only feeling him at night as she falls asleep.

So she doesn't need to open her eyes to feel him standing over her.

“How'd you know I was a banshee?” No use beating around the bush.

“The first time we encountered each other you screamed.” She starts to point out she'd just seen a _monster_ burst out of a window, of _course_ she screamed. Peter continues before she can really get a word out. “I've heard plenty of screams before Lydia, but none like that.”

He crouches and she finds herself opening her eyes to look at him. His own blue ones are glowing at they look straight into hers. “I found it stirred something in me, and wanted to know more.”

She stares at him for a moment; feeling like she had in front of Morrell's office that first time. This time there's no teacher to interrupt and the feeling continues to swell. It grows to be too much and Lydia looks away, standing up and brushing the grass from her dress. “I'm going to get something to eat,” she says it far too quickly, and she knows that he knows she's looking for any excuses to 'escape'.

He lets her, the illusion of him staying where it's crouched as she hurries to her car.

-

For the most part Peter's content to leave her to her research, even making the occasional suggestion about how to work faster, or catalog more concisely. She manages to pry from him that he had a Masters in Library Science specializing in archiving and preservation; and _of course_ he did, she can just see him glaring disapprovingly at people who so much as dared to look at any book under his eye in a bad way. Ripping their throats out if they talked too loud.

Every once and a while 'work' calls and she ends up doing things she never thought she would.

“You know,” she hisses as she creeps up to the back door of the animal clinic. “Most colleges frown on a criminal record.” Or the ones she wants to get into do.

A hand ghosts down her back, overall she's still not sure where she stands on Peter being physical with her but she'll allow it for now, “Relax, we won't get caught. Deaton doesn't have an alarm anyways, too many 'emergencies' for him to deal with.”

She arches an eyebrow at that as they finally stop at the door, what the hell did that mean?

“It means Lydia,” Peter murmurs as he guides her through picking a lock. “That Deaton is well aware of the supernatural problems that plague Beacon Hills. Hence us breaking in, he'll have exactly what we need.”

In silence they make their way to an unassuming cabinet in one of the examination rooms. It's also locked, but once again Peter helps her pick it. “Where'd you learn to pick locks?” It doesn't seem the sort of thing most werewolves would learn.

“My aunt,” he sounds wistful. But he's quickly all business again. “We're looking for whole flowers, aconitum columbianum, the fresher the better.”

Ah yes, the wolfsbane they're here to get. “This isn't going to kill them?” She'd rather not be responsible for poisoning her whole class; she knows how toxic wolfsbane is.

He gives an annoyed huff. “Not if you grab the right species and prepare it correctly,” he answers dryly.

Twenty minutes later, whole wolfsbane in hand, they leave like shadows.

-

_They're in a lab. Not a nice, modern one, or even one from school; but one that looks like a came from a mad scientist's wet dream, all bubbling beakers, sparking Van der Graaff generators, fluctuating dials, and dim lighting._

_Peter stands next to her in a lab coat and darkened goggles. Lydia can't help but giggle, he looks_ ridiculous _. “What's this for?”_

_He smiles, and suddenly he doesn't look as ridiculous wearing an evil smile like that. “This is the fastest way to teach you want you need to know.”_

All night Lydia dreams of wolfsbane.

-

In the morning when Lydia walks into the kitchen her mother bursts into 'happy birthday' and sets a cupcake with a candle in it and a small box in front of Lydia.

She manages a decent smile despite her nerves about today. “Thanks mom.” She leans down and blows out the candle. Though she doesn't know why her mom bothered to wrap the gift when Lydia already knew what it was; jewelry, just like every year.

Her mom pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Of course Lydia.” She pulls away with a bright smile. “Now don't forget you're going to have to pick up the cakes yourself.” She bustles about the kitchen aimlessly before returning to kiss Lydia on the forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow alright? Don't make too much of a mess.”

Lydia doubts it.

The rest of her day is a bit of a blur. She prepares the wolfsbane and dumps about half of it in the punch to dissolve, picks up the cakes, strongly encourages Jackson to come to her party— _The perfect distraction” “I thought that was what the wolfsbane was for?” “You know me Lydia, always have a backup.”_. Then heads over to Allison's.

Peter doesn't like it but he can stuff it. Lydia can understand now why her friend didn't want to tell her about anything that was going on; she still hasn't forgiven Allison, but she understands.

The only real black spot on the day is when Allison's mom steps into the doorway and something sad echoes and rattles in Lydia's chest. _She's going to die._

When she leaves Lydia nearly shoves Allison out after her, there are quite a few things more important than dresses. But Lydia finds something—not Peter—holding her back; the words she needs never quite leaving her throat, and she _hates_ it.

-

A few hours later the party starts.


	3. You Let the Devil in Your Home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well the dream wasn't _wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "The Honest Truth" by Typhoon.

Just two days after his 'miraculous' recovery Jackson, and the Whittemores, leave Beacon Hills for London.

Lydia finds it hurts her more than she thought it would. She spends the whole day in her room crying; grateful that it's spring break and she doesn't have to deal with anyone she doesn't want to.

Her tears have long since dried up when Peter pops into her room, quite literally. It's an illusion of course, bleed over from the bond, but that doesn't change the fact it's not exactly welcome at the moment.

Since both of them knew something like this might happen Peter doesn't bother saying anything by way of excuse and instead gives her a penetrating look. “Should I go? You look like you're in the middle of something?”

It's enough to startle a laugh out of her; for which she's grateful. No matter what Allison might have convinced herself of Lydia and Jackson hadn't at all been like her and Scott; they hadn't loved each other one bit. So it's not like he deserves her tears. Though she knows it doesn't mean she won't cry more about it later, because people can be irrational like that. “Stay,” she croaks out, surprising even herself.

Without comment he strides over to her desk chair and sits, wheeling it around aimlessly.

Lydia buries her face back in her pillow. She finds she doesn't care if he says another word to her, right now the fact that there's someone _here_ is enough for her.

-

On Monday things go on, though there are changes.

For one she doesn't exactly have anyone to sit with, those that usually surrounded her were mostly Jackson's friends, even Danny, so unless she wanted to deal with them throwing themselves—except Danny—at her at an attempt to get popular fast that was a no.

Of course she could join Allison at table werewolf; but she had _some_ standards, and she had to keep what little popularity she had left.

So it's tough, but she makes it.

After school she finds herself going down into the vault, unsurprised to find Peter there, working with a scanner he's hauled down. He glances up at her, but quickly turns most of his attention back to the book in his hands. “I didn't expect you to come back down here?”

“I want to borrow the book on banshees.” Which isn't _exactly_ the reason she came down here, but it is _a_ reason. It doesn't matter to her that the book's in Gaelic, she needs a new challenge anyways. She wants to work with something that even if it doesn't have _all_ the answers at least has some.

He nods as he carefully lays the book onto the scanner. “Alright.” She's a little shocked he doesn't try to fight her on it. “You know where it is. I don't think I need to remind you to be careful with it.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. “What am I, twelve? I'm going to read it not throw a party on it.”

Peter sniggers.

Deciding she should get while the going's good she takes the book and with care tucks it into her purse. “I'll return it after I've translated it.” Turning she starts to head back the way she came.

“Good luck,” Peter calls out as she leaves.

-

It's hard work, but she enjoys it.

And on Friday Allison comes up to her and says she and her dad are leaving for France.

Which explained why Scott looked even more like a kicked puppy than usual.

The week after that missing posters for Boyd and Erica start popping up.

-

All throughout April and May Lydia focuses on two things: schoolwork and the banshee book.

The book isn't all that big, about the size of a children's chapter book, but it's dense with information. Gaelic's a challenge, but a fun one.

On the book's suggestion she starts to mediate; no light except for a candle, and instead of the usual ambient sort of noises she finds a recording of the heartbeat of some Yogi who could slow theirs down to about ten beats per minute.

It helps a lot more than she thought it would.

-

_She's trapped in a dim hollow somewhere in a forest, back against a sheer cliff wall. Trapped not by wild animals, but by vines, or maybe roots._

_Incrementally they creep closer and she doesn't want to know what they'll do when they finally have her in their grasp._

_Turning around she begins scrambling up the cliff._

Lydia awakes with a start, heart pounding with fear and adrenaline.

She almost calls up Peter to demand an explanation; but she all too quickly disabuses herself of the notion that the dream was from him. If it had been she would've seen him in some fashion—he's self-centered like that—instead she'd been well and truly alone. With a soft groan she falls back against her pillows.

Well the dream wasn't _wrong_.

-

The first weekend in June she's awoken again in the middle of the night, not by a nightmare-dream this time but by a now familiar rattle in her chest.

Or at least it's familiar until it starts to feel like there's something trapped inside her, crashing against the cage of her ribs trying to get out.

She manages to have the sense of mind to grab her phone and put on some flip flops before the feeling drives her out of her room and into her car.

Driving when you're following a feeling is the worst, because feeling don't care about where roads are and aren't. Eventually she gets to what she takes is her destination if the way the thing in her chest calms—though it's hardly gone—is any indication.

Her destination's a bank, an abandoned one to be more precise. She stares at it for a long while, trying to figure out why her banshee senses brought her here.

The rattle in her chest shifts as she starts the breathing exercises she'd learned. ' _Only fall into yourself and you can hear the universe_.'

Crying, darkness, and for the briefest moments golden eyes.

With a shake she vaults back into full wakefulness. Pulling out her phone she takes a few pictures, making sure to take some of the nearby street signs too.

That done she pulls away and stats making her way over to Derek's.

A few weeks ago Peter had called her to warn her about there being a pack of Alphas in town, going on the say if she needed a safe place to hide out she should go to Derek's loft. “What,” she'd teased. “I'm not welcome at your place?” The line went silent for long enough that she feared Peter'd hung up on her.

Then he'd replied. “Lydia, you're more than welcome over here, just know I won't be looking at you with guilt in my eyes.”

She'd hung up.

Derek doesn't look all that happy to be woken up in the middle of the night.

His tune changes after she speaks. “I know where Erica and Boyd are.”

He's calling Scott and she wanders over to another corner of the too bare loft. Pulling out her phone again she dials a now familiar number.

When Peter answers he sounds even less pleased than Derek had. “What, Lydia?”

“I found Boyd and Erica and I want you to help Derek get them back,” she doesn't see a need to prevaricate. Just tell Peter what he needs to know and let him decide what to do.

“Why?” He sounds a bit more awake now.

This bit's a little harder, because she doesn't really _have_ a reason for why Peter should help Derek; she just thinks he should. “Because I think he'll need your help, but won't ask for it because he's about as stubborn as you.”

Peter snorts, but then falls silent; she can tell he's on the line though. “Alright,” he answers. “I'll help, but you'll owe me something in return.”

“Deal,” she says, hanging up before Peter could possibly change his mind. When she turns back around Derek's giving her a strange look. “What?” She snaps. Then before he can question her about it, though Derek probably doesn't care about any sort of relationship she and Peter might have, she starts to tell him about where she found Erica and Boyd.

Ten minutes later everyone's there and Stiles and Scott are giving Peter the stink eye. “What's he doing here?” Stiles snaps.

“He's here because he's going to help,” Derek bites out. “Could you tell if any of the Alphas were there?” Derek doesn't sound as angry when he's talking to her at least.

“Wait?” Scott looks shocked. “Lydia's the one who found them?” He turns to her looking hurt for some bizarre reason. “How?”

Oh yes, she's _totally_ going to spill the fact that she's a banshee here an now in front of all these idiots. Well to be fair only Scott and Stiles are idiots, she's not quite sure about Derek and Isaac.

“It doesn't matter,” she answers. “I found them.” She turns her attention back to Derek. “No I couldn't tell, considering I'm lacking in the claws and superstrength division I decided to play it safe.” Granted if the books right she could harness her scream as an attack.

“Wait?” Now it's Stiles who sounds scandalized. “You know about werewolves?”

Deciding to act like she didn't hear him, because that question is _not_ worthy of a response, she continues. “Considering I was outside the bank for ten minutes with my car idling and no one came out to investigate I think it's pretty safe to say there's either no on there or no werewolves at least.”

Derek nods then starts making plans, Isaac hanging on to every word.

Considering her part in the whole matter done Lydia starts to leave. Only to be stopped by Scott grabbing her wrist; he looks inexplicably hurt and Lydia bites back the urge to snarl. She wants to go back to her bed and _sleep_ , and not Scott or anyone else is going to stop her. “Let go of me,” she hisses.

Scott doesn't let go, but before he can say anything Peter's there, grabbing Scott's wrist and squeezing. “Now Scott,” Peter chides. “Don't be rude.” Scott lets go, but she thinks more out of shock that Peter's standing up for her than because Peter told him to.

Before anything else can happen she slips out.

-

Peter calls her the day after school ends. “I'm going to Sacramento for the weekend and need arm candy,” he tells her after she says hello.

From his tone she gathers this is him calling in the favor she owes him. “Alright,” she agrees. “Anything in particular I should know?” 'Arm candy' is pretty general and she'd like something more specific to base her wardrobe on if she's going to play the ditz all weekend.

“Dubenich is a leech that'll stare at anything with breasts. Can you be ready to go by eight tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” she answers, and is hardly surprised when he hangs up on her.

-

The drive to Sacramento is an interesting one. Lydia learns that Erica and Boyd are doing alright, if a little jumpy. That Dubenich is a rare books dealer; and that tonight there's an auction Lydia is welcome to join Peter at, but only if she wants to.

He's lucky she intuition-packed a nice dress.

The auction is the swankiest thing Lydia's ever gone to; Peter even wears a full suit—they both know she drools a little but neither of them mention it.

As the night goes on and she watches Peter bid quite a lot of money on various book lots that go up on the block she's getting a sneaking suspicion about something. “You're not going to be buying books from Dubenich tomorrow are you?”

“No,” Peter answers blandly as he raises his paddle again.

To be fair he'd never said he was. “Then why are we going to see him?”

Peter doesn't answer until the bidding's over—he wins—and they move onto the next lot. “Because he's Deucalion's ex-boyfriend.” Who must be one of the Alpha pack, though beyond that Lydia doesn't really care.

“Why are you the one talking to him?” Lydia's not going to fool herself into thinking this is a joint venture, Peter wants her there as a distraction; and he might do a lot to keep her safe, but she's not a partner to him in this.

Peter turns to look at her. “Because that's what a Left Hand does Lydia.”

Lydia nods, she might not know the full gist of what a Left Hand is but there had been a few books on werewolf culture in the vault that she'd devoured. “That's why you keep yourself distant from Derek isn't it? So he can have plausible deniability?” The Left Hand did what an Alpha couldn't or wouldn't do after all.

“Yes,” Peter answers after a heartbeat of silence.

Without thinking Lydia reaches over and squeezes his hand with hers.

-

The next day Lydia tarts herself up. She understands why other girls do this, while also understanding it's not really her thing.

Peter smiles when she walks out, “perfect.” Then offers her his arm like a gentleman.

She takes it and together they head over to Dubenich's book shop.

As Peter predicted the moment Lydia walks in the door Dubenich only has eyes for her. Lydia has to fight not to give away the game by yawning from how easy it is.

Ten minutes later after Dubenich spills that one of the Alphas is gunning after Peter specifically Peter knocks the man out and leaves.

Lydia chases after. “Peter. Peter, stop.” When does—praise be—she reaches out and grasps his arm. “Peter what's wrong?” It doesn't escape her that she might be one of two people who could ask that question of him and get an honest answer.

Peter whirls around, breaking her hold and revealing his eyes are brighter blue than normal, they also look panicked. Thinking fast Lydia takes hold of him again and guides him down an empty alley.

“Peter talk to me.” She's not sure what actual help she can give him besides an ear to talk to, but she finds herself willing to listen.

He slumps back against the alley wall—and she hopes later he doesn't bitch about getting grime on his jacket—and shudders. “Ennis,” is all he says.

She wants to ask who Ennis is, and why he's important, but she keeps her mouth shut, Peter will talk when he wants to and pressing will only get him to clam up.

A few minutes later he opens up. Tells her about a girl named Paige whom he'd fallen in love with during high school, how he'd known Talia wouldn't approve of the relationship. But Peter had thought since there were more Alphas in town than usual he could get one of them to bite Paige.

Lydia has a good idea of where this is going, still she keeps silent.

Peter had chosen Ennis to be his patsy Alpha because he'd just lost a Beta to Hunters, wasn't as likely to ask questions as any of the others.

It had gone off perfectly, until it hadn't. “She started to reject the bite. I, I couldn't stand to find out what Ennis would do to her if he found her like that so I took her to an old hiding spot of ours in the Preserve, a root cellar under an oak stump.” Something about that description rings in Lydia.

“She was in a lot of pain, she begged me to end it,” he exhales noisily though his nose. “After that my memory gets a little hazy, I think Talia took some of my memories, but I know I did what she asked.” Again his eyes flare brighter blue.

“Somehow Ennis found out what I'd done and, well, Talia was grateful she could pack me up and send me to college. That was that for a few years.

“Then I started a relationship with another woman I'd known back in high school. We'd kept it secret, because, well, for lots of reasons. Somehow we must have slipped though because a year after we started seeing each other she died in a car accident.” Peter's eyes dart away from hers. “Of course no one could prove it was foul play, but I knew. I'd thought that was that, I'd taken a Beta from Ennis, he took away my lover.” He exhaled noisily again. “But apparently not.”

“Am I in danger?” Lydia blurts out, she has to know considering how 'close' she could be considered to Peter. She's learning a lot thanks to the banshee book, but she's still not fully aware of everything she can do. In the fighting department she's about as bottom of the barrel as you could get.

Peter _looks_ at her, and she thinks she sees the same panic and worry she feels on his face. His answer doesn't help. “I don't know.”

-

_She's trying to escape the vine-roots again. This time she isn't caught against a cliff face, but she's surrounded. Nowhere to run, and the vine-roots creeping ever closer._

_She yearns for a flamethrower, hell even a lighter and some grain alcohol. None appear._

_A flash catches her eye and she turns to see another island of dirt, another spot free of vine-roots. It's far away, too far for her to jump. But doing something is better than nothing at all._

_She takes a deep breath and crouching down launches herself towards the island. Barely halfway there and she begins to inevitably fall back down towards the ground, eager vine-roots waiting to consume her._

_BANG, BANG, BANG!_

Lydia starts awake, eyes darting around in the darkness; wondering if that sound was only in her dream or if it had a real world correlation.

Sitting up her heart begins to slow when she hears nothing out of the ordinary.

 _Tap, tap, tap_. Her heart leaps back into overtime as something hits her window. Even though she knows she won't see anything she turns towards her window, and sees only curtains.

 _Tap, tap, tap_. Even though her heart's pounding she frowns. The sound's too rhythmic for rocks, and if one of the 'pack' wanted her they would've called.

 _A trap?_   So far it hasn't seemed like she's of any interest to the Alpha pack. The brief times she and Peter see each other in the vault he'll only ever say that the Alpha's seem to be laying low, if he says anything when she asks at all.

Which doesn't negate the possibility that this _is_ a trap.

 _Tap, tap, tap_. She decides she might as well get up and investigate, potentially stupid yes but if anything happens she can scream, because _not_ knowing right now is worse.

Getting out of bed she creeps to her window and grabbing a curtain in each hand yanks them apart.

Well it's not an angry Alpha bent on revenge.

In fact what it is is a bird, one unlike Lydia's ever seen before: overall it's an ashy gray, except for the tail, wings, head, and throat which are all black. The bird cocks it's head at her, then raps it's beak against the window again. _Tap, tap, tap_.

She stares at it for a few seconds. “Are you knocking on my window?”

Another cock of the head before she hears a caw come from it.

Now the question becomes does she open her window or not.

Lydia opens her window.

The bird flies in and heads straight for her vanity. It taps it's beak against the mirror, but doesn't seem at all confused by it's reflection, then roots around in her jewelry.

“Hey,” she snaps at it. Hurrying over before it can try and take anything. “No.”

It fluffs it's wings, then flies over to her desk. She watches it rifle around in her papers for a few seconds before it stumbles across her banshee book. It caws again then hops up onto the book. “If you shit on that I'm not the only one who's going to kill you.”

It bobs it's head up and down and lets out a short series of caws that Lydia thinks is laughter.

Since this bird _clearly_ isn't normal, what wild bird _wanted_ to be inside? She pulls her phone out and decides to look it up. She Googles a description of it and lo and behold the very first picture that pops up in images is exactly the right bird.

It's a hooded crow, the image description tells her and ten seconds later she's looking it up on Wikipedia.

She blinks is surprise when she finds out it's distribution is Eurasia and England/Ireland. It isn't until she gets to 'Cultural Significance' that she understands why this bird is here. ' _...and could also be a manifestation of the Morrígan.'_

Morrígan, the banshee queen.

Her attention goes back to the crow, patiently perched on the book. On intuition she holds her arm out. The crow blinks then pushes off the desk and glides to her arm.

It's heavy, but a good sort of heavy. “So what,” she stares into the crow's brown eyes. “Are you supposed to by my familiar or something?” If those are something banshee have she hasn't gotten to that point in the book yet.

It bobs it's head again, and Lydia's not stupid enough to think that means anything but 'yes'.

-

The rest of summer passes by blindingly fast, Lydia spends most of it finishing translating the banshee book. Mori, her crow, seemingly amused by it all. It hasn't exactly been easy to keep the bird a secret from her mom, but it's worth it.

A few days before school starts, the same day she gets a text from Allison saying she's back in town and wants to hang out, Lydia returns to the vault. She's finished her translation and doesn't need the original copy anymore.

She'd been hoping the vault would be empty, but it's just her luck Peter's there once again scanning a book. “I would have thought you'd be done with all that by now,” she says as she puts her book back where it'd been.

Peter snorts. “With all the running around I have to do because of the Alphas? Hardly.”

“Trouble?” Lydia's found she can sense danger in regards to herself, but in general she's as unknowing as anyone else.

“Sure, if you consider lurking around and being mysterious 'danger'.” He makes some strange sort of snarl-huff. “I wish they'd say their piece or challenge Derek, or whatever and be done with it.”

Lydia'd be grateful for that too, but for different reasons. “Well thanks for the book, it was a lot of help.”

Peter looks up from his laptop. “Think nothing of it Lydia, the least I could do.”

Before she can stop herself she darts in and kisses his cheek. Then high tails it out of there.

She knows if he really wanted to Peter could catch up to her easy; so she's grateful he lets her run away.

-

Then there's school again.

She barely pays attention in her first two classes, not that she needs too since they're just going over syllabi, dwelling more on the fact that she'd _kissed_ Peter Hale —even if it wasn't on the lips—and the fact that Prada had bitten her this morning; Mori had scared him away before he could do any really damage, but Prada had never bitten anyone before.

English starts off differently. It's the first class she has with 'pack', in this case Stiles, Erica, and Allison, and it's the first class she tries to focus on, pencil moving quickly across the page as she takes notes.

Not that she does it for long thanks to Stiles asking her about her bandaid, and then the whole crow massacre. And she does think it's a massacre, that many crows just don't up and kill themselves for no reason.

In the aftermath everyone's shell-shocked, her probably a little less than everyone else. Everyone caught up in their own worlds as they wait for the police to come. With no one paying attention to her, Stiles is curled up around Erica calming her down, Lydia collects a few feathers.

When the police let them go she hurries home; even she's not going to question getting the rest of the day off.

In her room she tosses the feathers onto her vanity. Mori croaks a greeting then hops over to the vanity to inspect the feathers, she picks one up and tosses it to the side. “No,” Lydia chides putting the feather back among the others. “These poor things killed themselves to warn me,” she thinks. “You don't get to be picky about it.”

Mori makes the crow equivalent of a raspberry and returns to the perch Lydia'd set up for her, rooting around in a half-opened puzzle box for food.

In preparation for what she's about to do Lydia opens up all of her windows, otherwise her room's going to reek for days, she also gets out her oil diffuser for afterwards.

Along with the oil diffuser she gets out a good sized glass bowl she'd bought a few weeks ago and sets it on her desk. Darting into the bathroom she grabs a glass of water, grabs the feathers she'd harvests, then a box of matches. Putting the feathers in the bowl she lights a match and tosses it into the bowl.

The feathers ignite faster than she'd thought they would, but she's glad. Soon they're burning merrily and bracing herself for the stench Lydia thrusts her face right into the smoke and inhales.

Coughing violently she recoils, though not before the images take her.

_Rivers of not water overflowing._

_Old stump with it's roots in everything._

_A blight of darkness._

Mori screeches yanking Lydia out of her trance. Blinking and shaking her head Lydia douses the feathers, then puts the bowl out on her windowsill.

The images and feelings churning through her mind Lydia decides to distract herself with school. She scans the three syllabi she actually managed to get before the English classroom became _Birds_ part 2. Before turning to the notes she took in English.

Opening her notebook though she frowns. Instead of words there's a drawing, of what looks like tree branches.

Or...

Lydia turns her notebook upside down.

 _Roots_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooded crows are actually not just associated with Morrígan but with banshees too (they're supposedly one of the animals a banshee can turn into (alongside the hare, the weasel/stoat, and possibly deer)).
> 
> And yes, that name is a reference!
> 
> Also for anyone confused as to why I applied the 'Visionary' plot to Peter instead of Derek may I direct you to [this awesome meta](http://shipsanddip.tumblr.com/post/56256838694/the-visionary-peter-hale-why-last-nights) (I also suggest you read the follow up meta linked at the bottom).  
> Adding to that is WOG that one of the Alpha's was responsible for the death of Jackson's mom and 'dad', and the fact that Peter was supposed to be Jackson's actual dad et voila!
> 
> And the idea that the animal freakouts are actually a warning and not because of the Alphas comes from [this awesome meta](http://vampisandi.tumblr.com/post/119583978446/tw-rewatch-3x01-animals-gone-mad) (and the later part of this one is going to play into the next chapter)
> 
> Yep! There's gonna be another chapter. Because I kind of have a plot now and the end that came to me like a vision demanded it's own separate chapter.


	4. ...It Will be Gone Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she awakes in the morning there's a glass of water and a unopened bottle of ibuprofen on her beside table; and a note from Peter: Make sure to take care of yourself. Signed with an overly flamboyant 'P'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, welcome to the twenty page finale.
> 
> Title comes from "The Honest Truth" by Typhoon.

Lydia awakes with a scream, a normal one not a banshee one. Mori gives a questioning gruk as Lydia rolls over and fumbles at her beside table. She frowns at the fact the aspirin bottle is empty before getting up and stroking Mori's back. “I'm okay,” she soothes.

Well except for the raging headache. “Mom,” she calls out as she slips on a jacket and some shoes. “I'm going to get more painkillers.” She opens the window and lets Mori out.

She frowns as she grabs her keys, realizing her mom hasn't answered. “No mom, I'm perfect fine,” she snipes. “I just woke up screaming because I felt like it.”

Muttering she gets in her car and starts heading towards the nearest mini-mart, Mori keeping pace alongside.

She takes a left, then another, then a right; somehow she can hear Mori calling though the car. Her dear crow keeping her safe, guiding her. Their rout is meandering, but eventually they reach their destination: the municipal pool.

Mori caws as she lands on the sideview mirror and Lydia starts. Gripping the steering wheel she looks around and groans, bones and teeth she'd thought she was done with the whole 'fugue state ending up in strange places' part of her powers since she'd learned control. But apparently not.

Well her intuition brought her here for a reason, though she's not keen to find out why. Still she gets out of her car and heads towards the main gate, which should be closed but is clearly open. _Great_.

The near silent flutter of wings doesn't startle her as Mori flies past and lands on the lifeguard chair, beginning to peck away at something. Lydia's more concerned with the body floating in the pool.

She might not feel the familiar death rattle in her chest, but that doesn't mean the person's not dying, or... “Please don't be dead, please don't be dead.” Over and over she repeats it; just because she screams for the dying doesn't mean she wants to stumble over their bodies.

The pool's faint current brings the body closer to the side as Lydia kneels on the edge. Her hand shaking she reaches out and grabbing a clammy shoulder she turns the body over.

Only to find herself staring at an exaggerated face; her shoulders slump in relief, only a CPR dummy. Behind her Mori makes a triumphant sound, Lydia stands and turns around having half a mind to chide Mori about guiding her someplace pointless.

Only to see Mori's happily pecking away at an actual corpse. She lets herself have a short, sharp scream before she's dashing over and scaring Mori away. “No,” she snaps. “No eating the dead body.” Especially considering it looks completely untouched except for Mori's gouges.

Her hands are shaking again as she dials the sheriff's department. After she hangs up she finds herself staring at her home screen, her thumb drifting down to her contacts list. Before she can start having second thoughts she brings up Peter's number—she doesn't know why she still has it or why she'd thought putting him in under 'Bigby Wolf' was a good idea—and calls him too.

Ten minutes later the place is crawling with deputies—Mori unhappily lurks on the bathroom roof—and the sheriff is taking her statement. Granted she's had to lie through her teeth as to _how_ she found the body; though she's not excited to bring up 'fugue state' again.

When they finish the sheriff sighs. “Well thank you for remembering to call us to report,” the sheriff's tone is dryer than a desert. Lydia has to wonder why he might have thought she'd call Stiles, there wasn't a reason she should as far as she can see. “You alright getting home? Or should I assign a deputy to follow you?”

Lydia glances at her car, still running with the high beams shining brightly, and sees a flash of blue in the passenger seat. “Thanks sheriff but I'll be fine.”

He gives a dubious nod, but lets her go. Mori glides above her, and unlike usual Lydia lets her into the backseat, where she takes up residence in an old sweater Lydia'd tossed back there some time ago.

Peter arches an eyebrow as she climbs into the drivers seat and buckles up. “I didn't think you were a bird person.”

“She's not a pet Peter.” She turns to look behind her as she backs up, not that there's anything behind her to run into. “Thank you for coming.” She might as well get it out of the way now, while she's still wondering herself why she called him. She shifts back into drive and they leave the pool.

“Why wouldn't I? It's not every day you call me for help. In fact I do believe this is a first.” He surprises her by not asking why she'd done it; in fact he's silent the rest of the ride back to her house.

Like the ghost he isn't anymore he follows her inside, trailing behind as she gets some of the liver she has tucked away in the fridge for Mori. Then up back into her room where Mori's waiting. She happily takes the liver, flying back to her perch and swallowing it all down.

With nothing else to distract herself with she turns her attention back to Peter, unsure of what to say. “I, thanks, again.” Gods above when did she turn into a fumbling teenager?

“You're welcome.” Peter tilts his head towards her slightly.

Silence once more stretches between them and she can't bear it, gathering up what strength she can muster she takes a step closer to him. “Will, will you hold me?” It's such a simple thing.

Peter doesn't speak, but steps up next to her and wraps his arms around her shoulders, gently bringing her in close against him.

She _should_ be worried about him trying something, he's made it clear he desires her, but he seems content to let her decide what she wants. Which is more than she can say for someone like Stiles, or Jackson.

One of Peter's hand shifts up from her shoulders to her neck, his thumb beginning to rub circles right at the top of her spine. She sighs and kind of slump into him, eyes fluttering shut, and the headache she'd completely forgotten about slips away.

Half-asleep she feels him scoop her up and carry her to her bed, her lips twitch in the barest of smiles. With care he slips off her shoes and socks and tucks her into bed. This time however his lips only graze her cheek. “Sleep well Lydia.”

-

When she awakes in the morning there's a glass of water and a unopened bottle of ibuprofen on her beside table; and a note from Peter: _Make sure to take care of yourself_. Signed with an overly flamboyant 'P'.

She's not sure whether to huff or smile.

Getting ready this morning is a snap and she finds herself humming along to the music blaring from her radio as she drives to school.

Her good mood lasts up until Stiles meets her by the front doors, arms crossed and clearly not happy. Internally she sighs, _can't have nice things_.

“Why didn't you call me?” She walks quickly in a vague attempt to out pace him, except he's eight inches taller than her and most of it's leg.

So she'll have to deal with him. “I don't know what you're talking about.” She's glad he doesn't have werewolf senses; because that's half a lie.

He makes a sound that's a pretty good impression of a canine snarl; he must be taking notes from Scott, no Derek, Scott couldn't snarl to save his life. “Last night, dead body. Ringing any bells?”

“I'm supposed to call you whenever I happen to stumble across a dead body?” Maybe he should've been the one to get therapy.

“Yes!” He says it too loudly and draws the attention of about half the hall.

Luckily the whole hall, and Stiles—meaning she doesn't have to deign to saying she doesn't have to explain herself—fall quiet as two new students enter.

Identical twins, handsome ones too. Too handsome in fact. Her libido might be crying 'gimme!' but the rest of her is five alarm danger.

Next to her Stiles stiffens, mutters 'shit', then unceremoniously grabs her arm and pulls her towards the nearest door.

Or at least he tries, she manages to yank her arm out of his grasp before they get too far. “No,” she snaps. “We played that game months ago, and I'm liking it even less now.” He snarls again and whirls around. Does he think he's actually frightening? “What was that about?”

“Werewolves Lydia.” As if that's supposed to scare her. “Freaky Alpha werewolf twins with some freaky Voltron bullshit.”

Well that would explain the alarm. “Thanks for letting me know,” it's only half sarcastic. Now she has a good reason for avoiding them. “If you'll excuse me I've got class.”

-

They see each other in English again of course, and now Stiles has Allison and Erica for backup. Not that Erica seems all that concerned with trying to convince her she needs their help. It gives her the start of another headache and for once she decides to follow Peter's advice.

As the bell begins to ring she gathers her things and moves back a few rows to sit next to Erica. Who arches an eyebrow at the move but doesn't ask, which is exactly why Lydia moved there. She doesn't care that it means Stiles and Allison give her matching hurt looks; if they're hurt because she decided to look after herself instead of coddling them then that's their problem not hers.

Class is a struggle, it feels like there's something pushing at her mind, and it's not making her headache any better. Her pen waivers and she sways.

“Lydia?” Erica whispers, reaching over she brushes a hand against Lydia's.

All Lydia can do is groan.

Erica's other hand shoots up and Lydia can barely focus as she ask if she can take Lydia to the nurse's office. She can hear Stiles and Allison offer to help as well, and Mrs. Blake drying saying that only one of them would be enough.

Knowing an escape when she sees one Lydia doesn't fight as Erica shoves all her stuff in her bag and helps Lydia up and out the door. Knowing Erica is strong enough Lydia leans fully on her, as they head down the hall. “Thanks,” she manages to get out.

It earns her a snort. “Considering you're the reason I'm still alive it's nothing.” It's the first time Erica's mentioned it; but it makes sense considering she and Lydia haven't interacted all summer.

The closer they get to the nurse's office the more her headache fades. “If you keep up the pain thing we're not going to have an excuse for the nurse.” Even so Lydia'll be welcome that a lie will get her a dark room and some silence.

“I'm not doing anything Lydia.”

That's, that's interesting. It means there's something else causing the headache and not just stress. She leans on Erica as the other girl sweet talks the nurse. Less than a minute later Lydia's alone in a quiet, dark room for as long as she wants.

Her headache's almost gone so she pulls out her phone and turning on the flashlight she points it up at the ceiling, giving her enough light to see by. In about forty five minutes she's finish her homework for her first two classes and biting the bullet she cracks into her English notes.

Heaving a sigh when she sees all she's done on the page is yet another tree.

-

A few minutes before lunch starts she tells the nurse she's better and makes her way to the cafeteria.

She's alone but not for long, the bell ringing shrilly and the room soon filling up with other students. A few of the other popular people join her at the table she'd picked out, but don't try to draw her into the conversation. Not until Danny flops into the seat next to her. The two of them have moved from passing acquaintances to almost friends, though she doesn't think they'll be drinking wine and crying over romantic dramas anytime soon.

“So now I totally get why all the other students call Harris a bastard.” She watches as he attempts to stab his fork _into_ the lunch tray.

She arches an interested eyebrow, because as long as you do well in class Harris likes you. It's only if you're a fool or an idiot that he loses patience with you. “Why's that?” She's learned that Danny's not the sort to bitch unless he means it.

Danny finishes chewing before answering. “We're supposed to turn in our ideas for the big Physics project we've got and he barely even looked at before telling me I needed to pick a new one.”

“What'd you pick?” It _is_ weird move for Harris. Generally Harris was fine with anything as long as you could argue that you could prove that it had scientific relevance.

“Telluric currents,” the phrase rings in her. “My mom's been talking about them a lot recently and I got curious.”

They're both quiet for a few minutes, wrapped up in eating. Lydia's curiosity gets to be too much and she has to ask. “Can I see it?”

“Why not.” Danny heaves a sigh and reaches into his backpack, pulling out a few pages of paper stapled together.

She chews as she glance over the proposal, the science looks sound, no hint of pseudo-science. Yet for some reason it got turned down. The last page is a map, one of those topography ones, but this one also has thick lines running parallel to the elevation lines. It takes her a moment to realize the map is of Beacon Hills.

“Can I take this?” She shows him the map page.

He doesn't even look up from his food. “Sure, not like it's gonna do me any good.”

-

After school Lydia heads down to the vault intent to see if there were some books on telluric currents and trees—with all the dreams she's been having and the tree's she's drawn it's something she should be looking into.

Her luck Peter's there, though it means she doesn't have to browse to find what she's looking for. “I want a book on telluric currents and another on trees,” she announces as she walks up to him. Today he's not manning his usual scanner post but instead organizing what looks to be a shipment of new books.

“Telluric currents would be third self left, _On Energy_ or _Origin of Power_.” He glances over at her. “And if you want a book on trees then you should check the school library upstairs.”

She rolls her eyes and as she passes him tugs on his ear. “Yes Peter let me go up to the school librarian and ask if she has books on _mystical_ trees. That'll go over _so_ well.” She takes both books from the shelf.

He snorts. “Well then I stand corrected. Why the sudden interest in Nemeta?”

Is that what they're called? “Do I need a reason?” It's a defensive question she knows, but she's not ready to admit to anyone that she's been having dreams and drawing trees. She wants to know _why_ before she starts talking about it.

“No.” He looks up at her again, and she has to resist the urge to leave and return with reading glasses for him to look disproving over. “This side, top shelf, _Nemeta_ is probably your best bet.”

She walks over to him and glares balefully up at the top shelf. “Peter,” she says sweetly. “Could you get it for me? It seems to be on a shelf not meant for normal sized people to reach.” In her mind it makes perfect sense that she's 'normal' in height and everyone else is freakishly tall.

It manages to get a laugh out of him and he doesn't say anything as he stands and grabs the book for her. She takes it and to avoid looking at him inspects the leather cover. It's brown, cracked with age, a detailed tree was pressed into the middle and stained a dark green. “Thanks,” she says to the book.

Books in hand she turns to leave, except Peter's there. Not looming, but inescapably _there_ and in her way. For a heartbeat she feels like some young ingenue cornered in the stacks by the dark and dangerous villain, clutching her books like they're some sort of impenetrable barrier that will save her.

He trails a finger up her arm, goosebumps break out in it's wake. “It seems to me that you and I have been growing closer.” His lips twitch in a smile. “Don't think it hasn't escaped my notice that you called me before anyone who calls you friend.”

Her heartbeat ratchets up, not out of fear like she'd prefer. “So? Maybe you just come up first in my address book.” Which is a poor lie even to her ears.

Peter doesn't bother calling her out on it, instead he moves a little to the left and leans down, his arms moving up to 'cage' her in. “That's a shame,” he mock sighs. “And here I was thinking about kissing you.”

Like a deer in headlights she freezes, staring up at him wide-eyed, her heart beating even faster.

His nose flares as he pointedly inhales—she's not sure she wants to know why she finds that hot. One of his hands shifts up and she feels his fingers tangle in her hair. “I guess I could make an exception if you really wanted me to.” He leans in even closer. “Do you want me to kiss you Lydia?”

 _Fuck_ , memories of their first kiss, back when he was lying to her, flash through her mind. Reminding her how _good_ it'd been, even if it'd only been an hallucination.

What would it be like to _actually_ kiss him?

Her arms are full of books, and she's not about to drop them just so she can kiss him, so she can't pull him down to do the deed. Instead she arches up onto her tiptoes, which makes up enough of the difference that she can press her lips against his.

For all of a second, then he's leaning down even further giving them both better leverage and his tongue brushes her lips, asking for entrance. She gives it and experiences a thrill akin to playing with fire. The hand in her hair moves to cup her cheek and tilt her a face for better access.

It's not as if she comes to her senses or anything like that, because she's as much a willing participant in this as he is. She just breaks away, breathing heavily. “I need to go.”

Ducking under her arm she retreats. Both eager and afraid that he might give chase.

-

All throughout the rest of the week and weekend that kiss plays constantly in the back of Lydia's mind. She sees it when she's brushing her teeth, when she's suffering through another headache in English, when she's eating.

Much like Peter when he'd been in her head it's inescapably insistent.

On Monday she gets an unusual distraction at lunch.

Erica and Boyd are sitting at her table in the spot Allison would usually be sitting—if she weren't in detention with Scott and Isaac over something to do with the Alphas.

Lydia sets her lunch tray down and gives them a look. “This better not be a sort of pity thing.” The last thing she needs is people sitting with her because they feel bad about her. “Or guilt.” Because it goes double for them thinking they _have_ to sit with her because she saved their lives.

“No,” Boyd answers before popping a fry in his mouth.

Erica, who's pressed close to Boyd—a werewolf thing or a potentially dating thing Lydia wonders—rolls her eyes. “We're here because otherwise lunch would be _boring_ ,” she says it like it's the worst possible outcome in the world, and maybe for a werewolf it is.

“Hey,” Danny takes the seat next to her, barely batting an eyelash at the two new tablemates. “You ready for Chem?”

Lydia snorts, “I'm always ready for Chem.” Besides Math it's her best subject.

Before anymore conversation can be made though one of the twins—she doesn't care enough to wonder which is which—saunters up and leans a hip against the end of the table, shifting it a little. He's got eyes only for her and she resists the urge to roll her own eyes. “Hi.” Across from her Erica and Boyd go stock still, more in a predatory way than prey.

What a conversationalist. “What do you want?” She sees no reason not to be short with him.

He takes a step back, clearly flabbergasted by her tone; she seriously hopes he doesn't think he's God's gift to women. Recovering he leans once more against the table. “Well I'm new here and was wondering if you might be able to help me get caught up?” He gives a smile she thinks is supposed to be charming, but looks too forced. “You know, tutor me?”

Now she rolls her eyes, could he be any more blatant? “Do you have an IQ over 170?” She asks with saccharine sweetness; Danny chokes on his sandwich and Erica's staring at her like she's grown a second head, Boyd just looks contemplative.

“No,” at least he's not trying to oversell. “But I'm sure there's still a lot you could teach me...” He drifts off, leaving no interpretation for his choice of words but the sexual one.

Lydia does the only thing she can do in a situation with an idiot like him. She gives him a blatant once over, focuses on his groin and tilts her head, when he starts to preen she begins laughing.

Not a quiet laugh either, or the sort that could be mistaken for giggles. No. Full on cackling laughter with undignified snorts and tears.

The more she laughs the quieter the lunchroom gets, all eyes on them; the redder he turns, humiliated and embarrassed. He knows a defeat when he gets one and leaves the cafeteria as fast as _humanly_ possible.

Lydia's laughter dies down now that it's object is gone and she wipes the tears from her eyes. “Maybe I should find him and thank him, I really needed that.” The world feels like a better place now that she's had something to laugh at.

“Uh uh,” Erica answers with viciously satisfied _glee_ plastered across her face. “That was _awesome_.”

She gives a demure smile. “I do my best,” one werewolf vaguely trying to get in her skirt is enough; she doesn't need Perfect McAlpha in the mix too. With lines like that he was probably as bland as milk; she preferred her men more interesting.

The conversation shifts to lacrosse, with Danny pestering Boyd to actual join up this year. She and Erica share matching looks of ' _boys_ ', and Lydia feels a real smile tugging at her mouth as she eats a carrot. Maybe things are finally starting to look up.

-

Lydia's on her way to APUSH—if Beacon Hills offered IB she'd totally take them but AP was as high as they were willing to strain themselves—when Stiles nearly runs into her.

“Did you know there used to be a temple in Calcutta where they'd sacrifice a baby every day?” He sounds like he's trying to make a point of some sort; and he should be grateful that by now Lydia's used to his strange tangents. “That's a lot of dead babies Lydia!”

Obviously. “I don't see how that's relevant to anything at the moment.”

“Human sacrifice Lydia!” He says it like this should be obvious to her. “You know, what's the cause of all the dead bodies turning up?”

Oh is that why she's been screaming more than she ever has before? It makes a certain sort of sense. “Really? I wouldn't know since I don't go nosing around police investigations.” It's a subtle barb, one Stiles will miss.

Or not from the angry noise he makes, “see! This is why you should call me when you find a dead body, it could be the next sacrifice.”

She gives a thoughtful hum, even though she doesn't need to think about it at all. “How do you know it's supernatural though? It could just be some wackjob who spent too much time watching Wicker Man. Maybe it's a smart idea not to assign blame, let your dad investigate _human_ crimes. It's kind of his job.”

Stiles fumes and she hurries to APUSH, she doesn't want to be late.

All throughout class though her mind's whirling. The book on Nemeta she's been reading had mentioned that ritual human sacrifice was one way to access the power of a Nemeton and it's telluric currents.

-

She sits in a chair, doodling away, humming off-key to herself. Around her people talk. “Hey that's really good,” Danny says, suddenly beside her holding a trumpet. It barely phases her.

“Thanks,” she replies.

“You should totally take an art class.”

She gives a noncommittal hum, she's not going to diss art but she enjoys looking at it more than producing it.

“Though I'd suggest doing it in _an_ art class.”

His strange tone gives her a start and she finds herself looking up and around, how in Badb's name did she end up in the band room?

“Ten minutes!” One of the other students calls out. At the call everyone starts getting up and putting away their respective instruments.

Lydia's a little bewildered. “What?”

Danny gives her a patient look. “Teacher doesn't come in ten minutes we get a free period,” he manages to not sound condescending when he says it.

She doesn't answer, just stares at the tree, _Nemeton_ she corrects, she'd been drawing yet again. Five minutes later she's alone in the room.

Intuition has her glancing over at the piano and she notices a phone sitting on the music stand. _Not again,_ she thinks as she gets up and strides over to it. There's no lock screen and the phone brings her to a recording app of some sort. Bringing the marker back to the beginning she plays the track, only half listening to the man —who's probably the teacher—give the song name and various sundries, he starts to play the piano and while it's nice she skips ahead. More piano, skip, more piano, skip, chanting...

She rewinds the track until she hears piano again, this time listening intently she hears the chanting start out faint but grow as the track continued until _bong!_ The chanting cuts off as something hit the piano.

Almost with exasperation she reaches out and closes the piano lid, blood and scratch marks.

Lydia calls the police.

-

When she escapes questioning Stiles and Deaton are waiting for her outside the room. Stiles looks unhappy. “Seriously, _call me_. Now we can't get in and look around.”

That's her problem how? She did what a regular human being is supposed to do. “I told you Stiles, leave the regular human nutjobs to the regular humans.”

“I don't think it's quite that simple Lydia,” Deaton says. “The one doing this may be gaining power from the sacrifices, power that normal humans wouldn't be able to deal with.” Lydia won't be cowed by his wise-master shtick. “Now I need you to think Lydia, was there anything in the room that stood out to you?”

“Anything having to do with virginity.” Stiles pipes up, but falls quiet when Deaton gives him a quelling glance, well well.

Stiles' comment does spark something in her and she shakes her head. “Not a virgin, there was a wedding portrait on his desk. He was wearing a uniform of some sort.”

Deaton arches an eyebrow. “Military?”

She nods.

Comprehension blooms on Stiles' face. “The guy who got taken yesterday was in ROTC with Boyd.” Stiles freezes. “Could Boyd be the next victim?”

Lydia shakes her head, intuition drawing her someplace else. “No. Harris was in the military too.” Something in her falls sad at that realization; she'd _liked_ Harris, he'd challenged her in a way few teachers did.

As they head to Harris' classroom a rattle begins in her chest, there's no urge to scream yet, but she's resigning herself to the fact the room will be empty when they get there.

It is, though Harris' desk is unusually messy.

“Maybe he just stepped out for a bathroom break,” Stiles makes excuses. “Or left already.” He doesn't even try to hide the hate in his voice.

“Without his briefcase,” Lydia points out. “Or his tests?” Something about those tests draws Lydia and she heads over, grabbing them and straightening them. Until she notices the letter grade on the first test. “This isn't right,” she says to the room. “Unless 'R' is a grade that suddenly became acceptable.”

Deaton and Stiles crowd behind her as she lays all the tests out, 'R', 'A', 'D', 'H', 'A', 'C'. “May I?” Deaton gestures at the tests. She shrugs, if he can make some sense out of it he's welcome to it.

He does a little shuffling and when his hands leave the 'grades' form a definite word. “Dar-ach?” Stiles says slowly, mispronouncing it horribly.

“Darach,” Deaton corrects. “It's a Gaelic word meaning...”

“Dark oak,” Lydia interrupts.

The two of them look at her. “What? I taught myself Gaelic over the summer.” She just didn't think it would come in handy for anything but banshee stuff. And if Stiles even utters something akin to 'atta girl' she's going to smack him.

Instead he and Deaton fall into an intense conversation and she leaves without either of them noticing. Which is all for the best, because some things are starting to make sense.

She gets in her car and drives off before Deaton or Stiles realized she's gone and think to look for her. In fact, reaching over she turns her phone off, she doesn't want interruptions while she thinks. She drives aimlessly, all the better for her mind to churn.

Nemeta were places of power, power that usually fed and fed from the surrounding telluric currents, that power could be drawn by anyone with the right training who knew how to draw from it. For the most part a brief auto-sacrifice was enough to get you what you wanted. But for someone looking to access _all_ of a Nemeton's power?

So human sacrifice, three virgins, three military, then what? She pushed that line of thought aside, didn't matter.

Who? Someone recent obviously. An Alpha? She discarded that thought. No, you couldn't be a werewolf and access the currents that way, not in the way a Druid, or Darach, would. Even if the Alphas were murderously inclined she didn't think they'd have a Darach for an Emissary.

So who?

Someone wanting power, or more power... Her head hurts as she thinks about it, maybe she should take a break...

Her car screeches to a halt as she steps on the breaks; lucky her she's on an empty residential street and not a busy throughfair.

 _Jennifer Blake_. It lines up, Lydia's only ever had headaches in the other woman's presence, it's when she's more likely to draw her stupid tree.

She and Mori are going to have to go deep to check it out.

-

Lydia skips school the next day, she has to, her mind's too full of other things. She tears through the three books she borrowed from Peter—ruthlessly shoving aside the memory that accompanies them. Going back and forth, comparing every last detail.

Around dinnertime, or at least she thinks dinnertime from the light coming from her windows and the way her stomach tells her it's been hours since she last ate, she stops.

Now that she has a good idea of what's been going on she's not sure what to think. Ever since she got a hold of her banshee powers the Nemeton, and Beacon Hills _has_ to have a Nemeton you didn't get telluric currents like the ones on the map without one, has been reaching for her; trying to get it's roots, _ha_ , in her so to speak.

Jennifer's arrival, and Lydia's 98% certain Jennifer's the Darach, and piggybacking off the Nemeton only made it more noticeable.

She's got a good idea of how to stop it too, but first, first she needs to eat.

After dinner she heads out carrying Mori in her arms—poor girl's still a little tired out from their trance last night—shouting at her mom not to wait up. In Eureka she finds a metaphysics shop that's still open, normally she'd be loathed to go into a place like this—even with her supernatural status—but she knows this place will have exactly what she needs.

Twenty minutes later she emerges with a bag full of obsidian plates and black tourmaline beads. She puts them in the footwell of the passenger seat and immediately Mori begins to root through them, distracted by the shiny.

Lydia rolls her eyes in affection, she's lucky Lydia bought extra just in case, and drives to a craft store. There she gets pliers, wire, and wire cutters.

All her supplies gathered she pulls into an empty lot and folds down her backseats as well as opens her hatch to give herself the most workspace possible. Settling down in the back she spreads everyone out before her and lets her intuition guide her.

By the time she's done it's full dark, and without even checking the clock she knows it's late. “Well,” she looks at Mori, who's toying with a leftover bead. “Shall we get set up then?”

Understanding that fun time's over Mori takes wing and begins circling, cawing a few moments later. Lydia closes the hatch, but leaves her backseat down and starts following Mori; trusting her to take her to the best places to put her new mirrors.

-

When she gets home its nearing one AM and she's tired. She plods up the stairs and into her room, flicking on the light.

Biting back a screech when she realizes Peter's on her bed, either asleep or unconscious. Hard to tell with the sluggishly bleeding wounds. He doesn't wake at the sound, which makes her more inclined towards unconscious—though not wounded enough to be close to dying thank the grave. She lets Mori in.

The crow lands next to Peter and pokes at him with her beak, “shoo.” Lydia gestures. “He's not dead, leave him alone.” Like she meant to do it the whole time Mori clacks her beak then flutters to her perch.

Slowly Lydia approaches, once she's standing next to her bed she gives an annoyed sigh, and she'd liked this comforter too. Pushing the irritation aside she reaches out and gives Peter a shake. “Peter?”

He groans, which is a good sign. She leaves off trying to wake him and instead goes to get cotton pads and hydrogen peroxide from her bathroom. When she comes back Peter's rolled over, but hasn't regained consciousness.

“Peter.” This time she throws all her strength into shaking him. She'd rather he be awake for wound cleaning.

Another groan and blessed be his eyes flutter open. “Lydia?” His voice sounds a little rougher than usual.

“Yes.” She tugs at his jacket, getting it half off. “Now sit up, and explain to me why you're bleeding on _my_ bed.” She scoots her trash can over from her desk for easier disposal and douses the first cotton pad —she knows it's pointless considering his healing but it gives her something to do while she chews him out.

He gives a satisfying hiss when she rubs the pad against a cut on his cheek. “Derek decided he was sick and tired of waiting around for the Alphas to do something and so we all possed up and went to the bank.”

Which was either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid of Derek. She plucks at the tattered remains of his shirt as she tosses away the dirty pad. “Off. And how did it go then?”

Peter gives a weak chuckle. “Why Lydia if you wanted to see me shirtless you could've just asked.”

She gives him a flat look and he pouts; but shrugs off his jacket, throwing it onto her desk chair. Then dutifully shucks the shirt, tossing it into the garbage can.

“It most definitely could have gone better,” he continues as she starts dabbing with a new pad. “We'd managed to catch them unawares, and despite nearly all of us being Beta's we did some damage.” He gives a vicious smile. “I'm fairly certain I killed Ennis.”

She should be frightened by that admission, but instead she just moves around from his chest to his back, working methodically. And if some of her touches are more caressing than clinical, well... “It seems they gave as good as they got.” It explains why Peter's not already healed.

“They did, even though it was one on one they're all Alphas. Still,” he shrugs. “We all survived and escaped relatively unscathed.”

“So you came to my house because?” Though she's sure she could guess the answer.

He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it's ruined by a grimace. “Your place was closer.”

A baldfaced lie, she's not sure whether or not to call him out on it. “Anywhere else you got scratched?” It buys her a little time at least. “And you're lying.”

With a sigh he stands and shucks his pants, revealing black boxers and a gash on his thigh; he's damn lucky it missed his femoral artery. “I came here because you're safe Lydia.”

Internally she stutters, externally the only sign she gives that it affects her is a slight pause in her care. Safety implies a lot more about what he thinks about her; and it's not the lust he's been insinuating since he left her mind.

Realizing how close she is to him, and how _warm_ he is, she backs off under the guise of cleaning up. When she exits the bathroom he's standing again, though she doesn't fool herself into thinking he's going to leave —he's still only in his boxers after all—when he sees her he jerks a thumb at the comforter. “A cold wash cycle will get all the blood out.”

Without saying a word she gathers up the comforter in her arms and hauls it down to the laundry room. As slow as possible she goes through the process of starting a load.

Peter just doesn't lust after her, does that change how _she_ feels? What _does_ she feel about him?

Only a few months ago he was her attacker and personal nightmare. He's also the one who told her about this world she now inhabits, gave her access to knowledge about herself and how things worked. She's helped him do his job, learned things about him that nobody else probably knew; hell, last week she _kissed_ him, passionately even.

She sighs as she runs out of things to do and shoves the comforter in, starting the washer.

The final stop before she returns to her room is the hall closet to grab a new comforter. When she enters her room it's to find Peter sitting on the floor, back against a wall, Mori perched on his knee.

Lydia blinks at the sight, not expecting her crow to be so friendly. On a different note she's pleased to see Peter's wounds were even more healed and had stopped bleeding. “She's a wild animal you know.” Mori likes Lydia because they're bonded in a way, but she's still a wild animal.

Peter barely reacts to her comment, he probably knew she'd returned the moment she stepped into the room. “In a way I am too Lydia.”

Unsure of whether to take that at face value or dig deeper she focuses on unfolding the comforter and spreading it over her bed. “Are you going to be staying or heading back to your apartment?” It's not exactly a loaded question, but it's safer than some of the others floating around in her mind.

“Which would you prefer Lydia?” Part of her hates him for giving her the choice. It means she actually has to think about what _she_ wants, instead of going with the flow and figuring out a way to enjoy herself. She goes to her dresser and pulls out fresh pajamas, retreating to the bathroom.

When she exits she's come to a decision of sorts, one she hopes she won't regret later. “Stay,” she tells him. She goes and turns off the overhead light.

In the darkness Peter's eyes glow neon blue and her heartbeat picks up as she makes her way back to her bed. She feels his eyes on her as she crawls in and makes herself comfortable, he doesn't say anything.

Ten minutes later and he hasn't left his spot against the wall, though she'd heard Mori flutter over to her perch to sleep, she sighs. “Peter, when I said stay I didn't mean 'stay in the same spot', I didn't think you were _that_ much of a dog.”

The dig gets him moving at least and soon she finds him standing by the side of the bed, staring down at her. “Are you sure Lydia? It won't be easy to hide whatever this is we have”—Lydia wants to snap 'if they had anything at all' except that would be a lie—“when you smell of me.”

Of course werewolf noses would be able to pick that out. Instead of answering she asks another question. “What do you smell like?” He's piqued her curiosity.

“Before the fire,” he sits on the bed. “Everyone said I smelled like cardamom and autumn nights. Now?” He shrugs. “It's not as if I can smell myself.”

“Then what do I smell like?” The dark makes things more intimate, makes her feel like her question is what will decide whether or not they share a bed.

He leans in, even though he has to have memorized her scent by now, and noses at her hair; she shivers. “Myrrh and dirt.” It's not the most romantic response, dirt is hardly sexy, but it makes sense.

She scoots closer to the edge of the bed. “There's plenty of room,” she tells him lightly.

He actually _leaps_ over her, and she giggles as he burrows under the covers with her. One of his arms snakes around her waist and she lets him pull her back against his front. He's warm and even with the fading wounds it's nice.

She thinks she hears him murmur 'thank you' as she falls asleep.

-

When she wakes up in the morning Peter's still there, curled around her like a second blanket. She 'd turned around in the night so they're now face to face, their legs tangled together; she smiles softly and buries her face in his neck.

-

Lydia's alarm goes off, vaulting her into wakefulness. Reaching out she slaps it silent, not wanting her mom to wake up and wonder why Lydia set an alarm for 1 AM. Crawling out of her bed she turns on her bedside lamp and quietly dresses in dark clothing; from her usual perch Mori groaks and stirs. Shoes and phone in hand she creeps out of her room and down to the garage, Mori trailing after.

Once there she slips her shoes on, boring practical sneakers for a change, and opening the side garage door started gathering all the items she needs, loading them up into her car.

After buckling up and starting her car she hooks up her Ipod and starts the playlist she made, gripping her steering wheel she closes her eyes and begins breathing. Seconds later a slowed heartbeat begins to beat from her speakers, drawing her into the trance. “Badb, Atropos, Skuld,” she intones as she opens her eyes and begins driving. Mori following along in the air.

There's a small conscious part of her wondering if she should have talked this plan over with Scott and the others, but what would that have accomplished besides giving her a headache? If they got angry at her for doing this, well, who were they to throw stones?

If they happened to bring up that she was a part of the pack, then she would happily tell them banshee didn't have packs, they had families they protected at all costs. That's what she's doing, protecting her own—even though she's not yet attached to a family. Even if it means she might end up in jail herself.

Allison had been hurt when Lydia said no to tailing the boys to their lacrosse meet, but with everyone else now gone this was really the best time to do it.

The closer she gets to the preserve the more pulsing the heartbeat becomes, below it starts the faint rumble of drums like thunder.

By the time she reaches the right parking lot the heartbeat is completely gone and in it's place is a myraid of drums: taiko, lambeg, djembe, cajón, timpani. All building in tempo and volume, and with the drums rise her senses and intuition.

Getting out of the car she unloads the necessary tools. First is the old kids wagon she'd unearthed, in it she places her bag of rock salt, two cans of gasoline, a box of matches, a few bars of chocolate, a box of graham crackers, a bag of giant marshmallows, two long forks, and her portable speakers. Mori lands on the wagon and pecks at the bag of marshmallows, gently Lydia bats her away; earning her a disapproving squawk.

Without missing a beat she transfers her Ipod from the car to the speakers, the drumming making everything in the wagon tremble. With one hand she grabs the wagon handle, while in the other she's carrying a rake and her phone with the flashlight on and pointed out.

With an easy stride she begins making her way to the rotting thread that is Jennifer Blake, or she assumes is Jennifer Blake, and when she reaches it she begins following it to it's end.

As she walks through the preserve her music once more begins to shift and change, the drums getting deeper, more throbbing, more electronic as it begins to shift towards bass heavy dubstep.

The further in she gets the more she can feel the presence of the Nemeton; pushing against her, trying to stop her.

But it's a dying tree and Death is her realm.

Without any pomp she reaches the Nemeton. Mori takes to the air again and begins circling, her ashy gray body just visible against the night sky.

As deep as Lydia is she can feel and even see every current and thread coming and going from the Nemeton. It's a lot, but it doesn't dissuade her one bit. What she has planned might well shatter Beacon Hills, but she knows down to the very marrow of her bones that it will be for the best.

Sitting at the center though is a dark mass, like some evil spider.

Reaching with her senses she pokes and prods at it, trying to get a better feel for what it is.

Not a spider at all, a fly trapped in the web, waiting to be consumed. Meaning her plan doesn't change, it'll go with everything else.

The moon's a good handspan above the horizon, providing enough light for her to see by. Clicking her phone off she puts it in the wagon and begins raking a huge circle.

She works methodically, making sure not even a single pine needle remains within twenty feet of the massive stump; she's just grateful the Nemeton is in an actual clearing and not in amongst the trees.

That done she returns to the wagon and sets the rake aside. Bass rattling her bones she takes the first can of gas and heads to the Nemeton.

Or to be more specific the cellar beneath it.

Throwing the storm doors open she descends and uncaps the gas can.

Heading to the roots she begins to pour, unloading nearly all the can on the tangled mass.

The rest of the can gets splattered onto the wood shelves and stairs.

Ascending back to ground level she exchanges the empty can for the full one and begins soaking the exposed wood of the actual stump in gas.

When that's done she takes a step back and breathes for a moment. But only a moment. After making sure the gas cans are far enough away that they shouldn't spontaneously ignite from the heat she tears open the bag of rock salt.

Bag in one hand she reaches in with the other and grabs a handful scattering it around the base of the Nemeton. When the bag's half empty she stops and puts it back in the wagon, the rest she'll use up later.

Picking up her phone again she sets a timer for ten minutes, then after getting her GPS coordinates texts them to Peter, asking him to be here in twenty minutes.

The timer goes off all too soon and after turning it off she picks up the box of matches.

Returning to the storm doors she lights a match and throws it in, then another, and another. Until fire begins to lick up from the ground for any wood and fuel it can get.

She steps back to the distance of the wagon, now all she has to do is wait.

The sound of fire's starting to drown out her music and smoke is pouring from the opening in the ground when she feels a bright flare of life behind her. Thinking it's Jennifer she whirls around, brandishing the rake like a weapon.

Instead of Mrs. Blake it's an old Asian woman around Lydia's height, as well as about ten other people behind her. As Lydia stares the woman's eyes begin to glow red and Lydia begins to worry that she may have bitten off more than she can chew and attracted the attention of the Alphas, but then those behind her only show glowing yellow and she relaxes a little, but only a little.

The old woman looks Lydia up and down, her eyes flick to the growing conflagration that is the Nemeton. “An interesting choice young banshee.”

Her words nearly shock Lydia out of her trance, but the music and the fire quickly pull her back in and she hums off-key for a second. “Who're you?” She cocks her head bird-like.

“Someone who has been her a long time.” Her eyes flick behind Lydia and feeling death behind her Lydia turns.

Ah, _there's_ Jennifer, looking a little worse for wear and radiating fury. “ _WHAT DID YOU DO?!?”_ Jennifer shrieks, and if Lydia weren't a banshee it would've made her flinch.

The wall of life that is the strange wolf pack melts back into the preserve and Lydia faces Jennifer alone and unafraid. “I decided to try my hand at weeding,” she says off-hand. Behind her there's a groan, then a ground shaking roar and Lydia feels heat now pressing against her back.

Jennifer's appearance change even more, quickly heading towards plastic surgery horror story; it's awful. “ _You bitch!_ ” She howls and her hands fly out sending a burst of nearly invisible power at Lydia.

Not even sparing the breath to scoff Lydia opens her own mouth and screams; the sound meets Jennifer's power halfway and shatters it.

Sunken eyes widen, and the rage starts to mutate to terror. “Banshee,” Jennifer accuses.

Lydia fakes a yawn. “Ding, ding, ding.” She finds herself hoping Peter's now lurking somewhere nearby, because if he's waiting for some sort of cue he's about to get an impossible to miss one. “Peter, why don't you tell the woman what she's won.”

Barely a breath later Peter bursts from the trees, fully shifted and roaring. And, alright, it's kind of really attractive.

Between the two of them—Lydia breaking Jennifer's attacks before they can touch Peter, Peter acting in true hunter fashion and darting in and out to deliver a growing number of cuts—they take Jennifer down.

Eventually she and him stand on either side of Jennifer, looking down at the woman who'd been throwing the town into so much chaos. Peter hamstrung her a few seconds ago, and Jennifer's smart enough not to try and stand. Instead she glares balefully at the two of them. “How could you?” She wheezes. “You're desecrating a holy place.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and crouches, using the rake to help stabilize her. “I don't care if it's holy or not. It's been fucking with my head for months and I'm sick and tired of being _anything's_ plaything.” She tilts her head again. “In all honesty I think Beacon Hills deserves a fresh start, don't you?”

Instead of answering Jennifer narrows her eyes and purses her lips, but before she can even follow through with that implied threat of spitting Peter's shoe is pressing against her mouth. “Now, now,” he chides.

Realizing there's not more conversation to be had Lydia stands and turns towards the merrily roaring flames. “Kill her,” she says flatly. A very human part of her shivers at having just condemned someone to death. “Make sure she stays dead.”

Without waiting for a response from Peter she walks back to the wagon.

About a minute later Peter joins her, looking like himself—with nary a spot of blood on him thank the grave. She sees Mori dive towards the body of Jennifer and start pecking away at the face.

“I didn't think you would stay,” she says softly, swaying to the music of the fire. She didn't think he'd be able to stand being around all this heat and burning.

Ever so slowly one of his arms wraps around her waist, somehow hotter than the fire.

Before Peter can say anything though the world around her thrums as power explodes from the Nemeton, rushing through the telluric currents only to hit the 'mirrors' she had set up with the help of Danny's map. Reflected, and doubly strong now, all that power crashes back into the Nemeton.

She doesn't even flinch when that shadowy fly begins screaming in pain as all that power tears it apart.

The arm around her waist turns her to face Peter, she blinks and his face is in front of hers and when she opens her mouth to speak Peter's lips press against her own and he's kissing her.

Like that her trance snaps and Lydia returns to herself. Dropping the rake she'd been holding she wraps her own arms around Peter's neck and kisses him back, fervently.

When they break apart they're both breathing heavily and Peter's eyes are glowing brightly, even against the flames. As aroused as she is—returning to life after being in death for so long is always a little...awkward—she doesn't want their first time to be in front of the illegal fire she's set. So she takes a few gulping breaths and takes the smallest step back she can. “I've got marshmallows to roast if you want a s'more.”

Peter blinks, clearly not comprehending her, and frowns. She can see when he does get it though and she yelps as he scoops her up, chuckling. “Oh Lydia.” He noses at her cheek for a few moments before giving her a swift kiss. “I don't think you'll ever bore me.”

He sets her down just as quickly and she gets out the marshmallows.

Which is how Deaton—whom she'd expected—and Mrs. Morrell—whom she hadn't—find them a few minutes later: standing as close to the fire as they dared while holding out marshmallow bedecked forks.

Lydia turns and offers her fork to them. “Want one?”

Deaton looks at the both of them, bemused. While Morrell expresses emotion and rolls her eyes; but that soon vanishes into her stony facade as she looks at the both of them. “You have it well in hand.”

It's not a question so Lydia doesn't bother responding.

“I dare say you could have been less drastic in trying to defeat Jennifer,” Deaton finally manages.

Rolling her eyes Lydia tilts her fork so it's vaguely more threatening; or as threatening as you could get with a marshmallow covered fork. “Who says I was trying to defeat Jennifer? I did exactly what I planned to do Druid, I destroyed the Nemeton. When it's done burning I'm going to salt the earth so nothing like it will ever grow here again.” She won't let _anyone_ ever be used like she's been used. “Jennifer was a bonus.”

At her words Deaton's expression turns to fear, while Morrell gives her a considering look. Morrell grabs Deaton and turns him around. “We'll make sure you're left alone.”

Lydia inclines her head in thanks. “If you could deal with Jennifer.” Her tilt of thanks becomes a gesture towards the corpse in question. “I would appreciate it as well. But don't hurt my crow.” Morrell nods and less than a minute later Lydia watches the two of them walk off, Jennifer's body between them. Mori gives a mournful call at losing her feast but quiets when Lydia offers her a marshmallow. Once they're gone from her sight she returns her attention to Peter. “I'm surprised you're not terrified.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him smile. “Lydia, with you by my side I don't think I'll be afraid of much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooffff. Well I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Though who doesn't like fic that ends in Arson?
> 
> Nemeta is the actual plural of Nemeton.


	5. Call it Love (If You Want)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the old country they call us fae, and it's true"-she'd snap if Talia tried to protest-"we are not of the Fair Folk mo chuid féin, but neither are we human. So they gave us respect and treated us fairly. But they did not court us, or act as friends; they knew how wolves loved and knew they could not bear it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!
> 
> ...what can I say, Peter demanded a chapter of his own and I was helpless to resist.
> 
> Title comes from "Wilder Mind" by Mumford and Sons. ~~wait you mean I listen to music other than Typhoon?~~

Peter doesn't love Lydia; not in the way humans see it.

-

When he was younger he remembers his greatgran telling him stories, well she told _all_ of them stories, about the family and what they were.

"Malachi, Rebecca,"—for some reason greatgran only ever called him and Talia by their middle names—"pay attention; this will spare you heartbreak.

"In the old country they call us fae. It's true"—she'd snap if Talia tried to protest—"we are not of the Fair Folk mo chuid féin, but neither are we human. So they gave us respect and treated us fairly. But they did not court us, or act as friends; they knew how wolves loved and knew they could not bear it."

-

When he was a teenager he'd thought he'd known everything;  _believed_ that Paige could bear the weight of him loving her, thought she might even understand it if she were like him. Understand why he would always want to cuddle when they were asleep, why he'd want everything she ate to have come from him, why she needed to wear his scent like a badge of honor.

He'd had to kill her because he loved her. Because she'd been born human and couldn't ever be anything else. Talia might have thought she did him a favor by stealing the memories away, it doesn't feel that way to him.

-

College had almost been worse; and a lot of the later years—when he'd starter to get his Masters—are a bit of a blur. He does remember a Halloween party though, where he'd gone back to Beacon Hills feeling empty and craving _something_ , where he'd happened to run into Mary Perkins. She was drunk, and the music was turning him the same; and they'd fallen into bed together.

The next morning she'd panicked because "Christ Peter I'm _married_."

At that point even the concept of wolf-love had felt foreign to him. He'd felt nothing but an urge to fuck her; one that had continued even after she'd told him she was pregnant with her husband's child.

Then she'd been killed by Ennis.

-

After that he stopped trying, clearly he wasn't the sort to 'settle down'. He started listening more to his aunt Meredith when she'd talk about her work, asked her questions about what being a Left Hand entailed.

It hadn't mattered, it was clear after the fire that even those he loved as family would be taken away from him.

When he'd first heard Lydia scream at the video store, he hadn't been thinking about things like 'love' and 'care'; she'd just be the means to an end, a plan B should things go wrong.

-

Then he'd been in her head. Turned himself into a teenager again to try and overcome some of her defenses.

Which was probably his downfall. As a teenager he'd been overconfident, so sure of his attractiveness, of his draw. As a teenager he didn't quite recall that everything he'd ever cared for had died.

She'd been clever and biting, hadn't been cowed by him and gave as good as she got—even with poetry.

It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to not curl up in bed with her when he'd tucked her in that first time. Not to slot into that narrow space behind her and keep her close.

He wanted to feed her, instead he reminded her to eat, he wanted her to smell of him so much that no one would be able to tell who was whom, instead he taught her how to prepare wolfsbane until he could smell it buried in the whorls of her fingerprints.

-

After he'd come back to life he hadn't hidden the fact that he lusted after her—lust is such a tiny word for the drive to have her be with him always.

And she hadn't run for the hills like a human would. He always forget that she wasn't human, that she was even more fae than him—greatgran had counted banshees among the Fair Folk after all.

Sure she hadn't gone out of her way to talk to him, but it couldn't be said she avoided him either.

-

He hadn't meant to kiss her. Well, he hadn't meant to kiss her _then_. Lydia would only ever be a slow campaign, one that he'd willingly committed himself too despite common sense telling him not to.

Wolves didn't have common sense, they had instincts.

All of his were saying he'd regret letting Lydia Martin go. So he'd kissed her. Well to be fair, she'd kissed him first; which had surprised him above all else.

As kisses went, it wasn't revelatory, or the cause of fireworks, or any such nonsense. It was a kiss, simple as that; a tangle of tongues, an exchange of passion. Her myrrh and dirt scent wrapped around him like smoke and he wanted to keep inhaling it forever.

Then she'd broken away and he'd let her go, let her run.

-

Despite the fact that the plan, as far as plans go, was poorly thought out and cobbled together at best didn't mean Peter wasn't willing to go along with it when Derek presented it to him and the Betas.

In fact that was part of the reason he agrees to it, Deucalion was nothing if not meticulous, and something as spur of the moment and off the cuff as this was sure to throw him off a little.

So they all shift to Beta form and follow Derek as he lead them towards the Alphas.

As fights go it was a tough one, but Peter enjoyed himself; there was something to be said for the straightforward approach. And the look on Ennis' face when Peter was _there_ and doing his damnedest to yank out his spine was one Peter won't soon forget.

Nearly as one—Alphas and Hale pack alike—they broke apart and retreated to lick their wounds.

Peter followed Derek to make sure he and the Betas—true Peter's one too but that's different—got back to Derek's loft safely, but then veers off to Lydia's.

Lydia's not home, so he toed off his shoes and socks and curled up on her bed. Let her myrrh and dirt scent seep into him, tie him down.

He must have slipped into unconsciousness because the next thing he knew Lydia was there, none too happy with him getting blood on her bed. But she didn't scold him, not verbally, and cleaned his wounds.

It made him weak and all too strong. Made him admit to her that she was safety to him, the place he'd always turn to when he was in need.

She left and he slumped to the floor, her bird flew over landing on his knee and staring at him with unblinking brown eyes. He held out a hand to touch her, but she bit his finger for the trouble.

Whichw as why Lydia's wild animal comment didn't surprise, and he could tell his own made her nervous from her scent and the way she fussed with the blanket.

Her scent went sour when he turned her next question into her choice; but it had to be. He chose for Paige and it got her killed, he chose to stay with Mary and it got her killed too.

He wanted beautiful, inhuman, Lydia to choose him.

She did.

Shock filled him and he felt frozen in place, until Lydia's teasing vaulted him into action. But he gave her another out, a chance to rescind her offer.

But she choose him again. Let him pull her to him, let him bury his face in her hair so all he breathed was myrrh and dirt. He whispered "thank you" into that hair.

He feel into sleep far faster than he ever had since the fire.

-

Peter was never one to miss out on a grand entrance, and taking down this twisted woman was a breeze with Lydia's help.

Once the woman was dead he looked at Lydia, backlit by fire. Not even the flames could hide the glowing pale shade of her eyes, banshee eyes.

He went and held her, brought her back from the abyss when he felt she'd been in too long. Toasted marshmallows with her when he should be running scared from the fire consuming the Nemeton.

Then again standing next to Lydia fear was the farthest thing from his mind.

-

Two days after the Nemeton burnt one of the twins comes to Derek's loft; and Derek should feel lucky that Peter's there cooking.

Actually he's just surprised that Derek doesn't attack the boy. From Derek's expression it's a close thing. “What do you want?”

To the boy's credit he doesn't cower. “I want to join your pack.”

Peter laughs. Only smothering it when Derek gives him a look.

“Why?”

The boy's eyes dart around, as if expecting Deucalion or Kali to jump out of a corner. “Duke had Aiden and I go after Lydia and Danny to see which of them was important to Scott, and well,” the boy actually blushes. “I kind of started to like Danny, and I don't want to hurt him.”

Derek frowns. “Who's Danny?”

“One of Scott's fellow students,” Peter answers, dragging it from the few fragments of Lydia's memory that lurks in his brain. “He was Jackson's best friend.”

Ethan, Peter's grown tired of belittling him, nods. “Duke wanted to see which of them was more important to Scott, but Aiden failed and Scott doesn't seem to care about Danny.” Peter can't help but feel a little smug, sure that he contributed to Lydia's dismissal of Aiden.

“Why Scott?” Peter's content to let Derek ask the questions and just be a witness.

“Duke thinks he could be an Alpha with how he's standing against you. If he couldn't have you he was going to try and pit Scott against you.” That had to sting.

Still, Deucalion thought _Scott_ could be an Alpha? Peter snorts. “Scott an Alpha? That boy won't even _join_ a pack, I'd hate to see what he'd be like leading one.”

Derek stays silent,  thinking about Ethan joining them. Which could be useful, as long as Ethan didn't turn out to be the best liar in the world and was fooling the both of them.

“Alright.”

-

The next morning there's a knock on Peter's door as he makes breakfast. The bacon and eggs should be find unattended for a few minutes so he goes to answer.

It's Lydia, sparks of pale in her eyes. “I need to talk with you and Derek.” She pushes past him to enter the apartment, her hand trailing around his waist as she does so.

“How about breakfast first?” Peter tests. He hasn't seen her since he'd taken her home around dawn after the fire had died down. There are still traces of his own scent in her's even after so long apart, but not enough for him to be completely happy.

Her head tilts. “Sure.”

She sits at his bar, her fingers tracing abstract designs in the tile. He gives her a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast; and dares to kiss her cheek. She accepts both and he feels a modicum of contentment watching her eat his food.

He soon joins her, and while he might have been brave enough to kiss her he doesn't think he can pull her onto his lap. Instead he sets his free hand on her bare knee; not out of any sexual desire—though that's always there in the background—but just to touch her.

Lydia's eating only stutters a little a the action. Soon regaining it's steady beat.

His hand stays there throughout breakfast.

-

A week later Lydia's sitting down with Deucalion; Peter standing behind her exuding menace. Peter's not quite sure _how_ she arranged this meeting, or why. But she asked him to be with her, so he's going to do his best not to leap across the table and rip Deucalion's throat out.

“My Emissary told me that I should accept your offer to meet and not turn it out of hand.” Deucalion's head tilts. “Now why is that?”

Peter can't see Lydia's face from his position, but he can imagine her poison-sweet smile. “I'm the banshee that destroyed the Nemeton. First I want your good faith gesture.”

Deucalion leans back in his chair, his scent gone intrigued but his expression unreadable thanks to his sunglasses. “Alright,” he agrees. “My gesture of good faith is this: earlier this summer when Derek stole back his Betas, we were gone because we were looking for one more person. A backup plan in case we couldn't get Derek or Scott to do what we wanted.”

Lydia hums. “That's relevant how?”

Despite the sunglasses Peter can tell Deucalion's attention is on him. “That other person was a Hale.”

It takes all of Peter's willpower to keep his face straight, but he can't control his scent. Even amidst all his inner turmoil at that revelation it doesn't escape his notice that Lydia's not surprised.

“Well then, here's what I have to say. I've tied myself to the Hales blood and bone.” Which hadn't been a pleasant process; giving the blood had been easy enough sure, but the bone? No, not easy at all. “If you harm them in any way I will not hesitate to slaughter you all and keep your heads for oracles.” Her tone is that saccharine-sweet one that does things to Peter.

“So I suggest you _leave_ and find other Alphas to prey on.” Her voice rings with authority, and Peter finds himself standing straighter at the tone, full of pride in the Hale's banshee.

Deucalion leaves.

After Peter's sure Deucalion won't be able to overhear this conversation he strides over to Lydia and turns her chair around. “Why were you not surprised when he said there was another Hale?” It _hurts_ to think she might have hidden something like that from him, he who'd been without family for so long.

Her eyes flare pale in anger. “I thought my powers were going haywire after the bond Peter! I didn't want to instill false hope when it could have just been a bumpy connection.” She takes a deep breath and stands. “Deucalion's wrong Peter,” dread and hope are an unpleasant combination in his belly. “There isn't _one_ Hale still alive.” The floor drops out from beneath him. “There are three.”

His world tilts sideways, until Lydia's the only thing that feels real. Needing her he scoops her up and wraps her legs around his waist. Her arms come up to circle his neck and for the next few minutes all he does is bury his face in her shoulder.

This beautiful creature gave herself to him, bound herself to his family for the rest of her days, gave him a gift beyond measure. He almost starts wondering if he's worthy of her. Then he's moving until he's pressing her against a wall, his head moves up and then they're kissing. Bruising, nearly violent kisses.

Monstrous kisses.

-

So no, in the way humans see it Peter doesn't love Lydia at all. What did he care for the perspective of humans? He is a wolf, who loves like a wolf does.

A love that overwhelms and ravages him.

A love that makes him even more of a monster in the eyes of those who don't know better.

Not that anyone outside the pack truly matters now that he's whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: [the Celts regularly beheaded their enemies and would actually keep, and sometimes preserve, said heads.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Decapitation#Celts)
> 
> The oracle bit though comes from Norse mythology.
> 
> And yes Malia exsists in this 'verse, though Peter still doesn't remember her or her mother. ~~the other Hale is Jackson of course~~


End file.
